


The Future

by footsieinthegarden



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Enjolras, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footsieinthegarden/pseuds/footsieinthegarden
Summary: The world as they know it ended a long time ago, but still the Amis survive together and try to help those who can. Their world is upset when they find a man they come to know as Grantaire, alone, abused, and almost dead in the woods.(Well...this is certainly awkward to be updating during a pandemic. I really just wanted to write my E/R slave!fic and found family Amis dynamics in a different setting. I don't think there is anything pandemic-specific in here that could be triggering.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If only writing E/R slavefic was a marketable skill, I would be a millionaire.
> 
> I am trying to explore a different E/R dynamic in this fic, but please note that angst with a happy ending tag. (And that also as a person I don't read non-happy E/R.)

Grantaire couldn’t believe he finally had the chance to die. He couldn’t believe someone had found him. He couldn’t believe he didn’t care more.

He should at least close his eyes. Not that it ever worked. He kept watching the puddle in front of him. It would reach his nose soon. Boots churned the puddle into mud. That was alright. It would just take a little longer now.

“I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.” A cloth was run over his eyes. Not again. At least it would be the last time. But the cloth was pulled away. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you could hear me.” Knees dropped into the mud. Again the cloth smothering him and a refrain of “sorry, sorry.” This time followed by, “What’s the best way to communicate with you? What can I do to help you?” 

Communication and help were the opposite of what Grantaire needed. He was already on track to reach his final destination. 

This time a hand ran over his face. He should probably open his mouth. Two disembodied fingers suddenly lay on his tongue. He tried to obey and suck. There was a hiss and the taste of blood. And then the bliss of just him and the mud.

Until it shattered. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you. I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.”

His view of mud became tree canopy and raindrops. He hoped he could still drown like this. If only he could tell if his mouth was open. Then clomping hooves approached. Being trampled wouldn’t even hurt now. 

But again he was denied. He was scooped up on to a shoulder. At least he couldn’t feel the arm under his ass. Then he was face-down on horseback. Everything stunk of wet wool. There was not enough time to roll off. His tormentor was behind him and rearranged his limbs. Grantaire slumped against a chest so warm it hurt. The arm supporting him burned. The horse beneath him was flaming agony. 

How odd something was finally beneath him. He giggled. He must be dead. Riding into hellfire.

He wasn’t allowed to slide off. This must be his fate. The man behind him was still rambling. Grantaire couldn’t focus. Not the worst. He could be trained again. 

He hadn’t expected hell to be a ramshackle building. It seemed fitting enough. The figure draped in white on the porch didn’t. “I’ll get Joly and Bahorel.” She rose and went in. Grantaire still couldn’t manage to fall off before she returned.

Hell was much more efficient than he had supposed. An absolute giant ran out and lifted him down. He was carried into a dark close room. There was an actual fire. There was a metal tray of instruments. There was bed but he was set on the floor. Things made more sense. 

“My name is Joly. I’m a doctor.”

“An actual real one,” said the giant from the door. 

“You have moderate hypothermia,” Joly continued. “I am so sorry if this causes more immediate psychological trauma, but I need to cut your clothes off so we can start warming you up.” Why had more people apologized to him dead than alive? Joly took a pair of scissors from the tray. He sat down at Grantaire’s hip slowly. He balanced on one hip with his right leg straight. 

The only thing that hurt was the shame. Joly breathed in sharply when Bahorel rolled Grantaire over. “Bahorel, please wake Musichetta up and find Jehan. Have Combeferre wait for me in the kitchen instead. Cosette can give Courfeyrac something else productive to do.” 

“Fuck. Fuck everything,” Bahorel spat. “Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” 

“No, thank you. He’s more hypothermic than I first thought.” Grantaire couldn’t even be pleasing in hell. That probably made sense too. He had just more hoped for eternal nothingness instead of torment. 

“Bahorel is not judging you,” Joly said. It seemed lying wasn’t any different in death. Grantaire was judging himself as his rags were peeled off. The two new people who rushed in must be too. “Thank you so much, Jehan.” Joly nodded to the petite person. “And thank you, dear.” The woman bent to kiss his cheek.

“You will both need to be naked. Only if you’re comfortable, of course. We can look for Eponine or ask Cosette. Or – or weigh other options.”

“I give you all my apologies in advance if this hurts you in any way.” Grantaire was more confused how they gotten naked so quickly. But not hurt. Not yet. Jehan opened the bed covers and lay down. Musichetta lifted Grantaire in and sat down to undress. She curled against his other side and tucked them in.

Grantaire wasn’t sure what was supposed to be happening. It certainly didn’t feel like anything was happening. Joly came and put more blankets on top. Still nothing. And then everything.

Here was the pain. It was everywhere. And it was constant. And it only got worse. He wanted to be angry he hadn’t frozen in the mud. There was no energy. His teeth chattered so hard they hurt. He shook so hard Jehan and Musichetta held him down. That meant more punishment would come. How could death be just like life?

The woman in white returned with a basket. It smelled of potatoes because it was. She wrapped each in cloth and gave them to Musichetta. She brought them under the blankets and against Grantaire. Two at his feet. Several at his groin and inner thighs. One for each hand. One under each arm. The rest around his stomach and back. The pain grew proportionally worse.

It was the worst when the tears came. He could feel them slide down his cheeks. He was very much alive. 

He tried to push Jehan and Musichetta out of the bed. He hurt so much more now. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late. He could see the porch from the window. Rain still sheeted down in the yard. It was so close. 

He made no progress. Jehan held him still with one hand. Sweet nothings were murmured in his ear. He wanted to shake right out of his skin. 

Finally the pain receded. It stopped as much as it ever did. He must have endured enough. “I’ll get Joly,” Jehan said softly and left, clothes under their arm. 

“I’m just going to stay here until Joly says it’s alright. Then I promise you can have your space back.” Joly came alone and put a hand to Grantaire’s forehead. 

“There’s no way for me to know your body temperature exactly, but you feel pretty normal.” Musichetta rolled away, stood, and dressed.

“Do you need anything?” she asked Joly from the door.

“No, I’ll call if I do.”

Grantaire needed to die, but no one asked him.

“Hello again,” Joly said. “How are you feeling?”

Grantaire stared at the floor. Say good - he would be hurt again. Say bad - naked strangers would be back in his bed. 

“It seems like you’ve been through quite a bit. The very best thing now will be for you to get some rest. And I promise you will have that, and whatever else you need to get well. But I do have to ask you a few questions first. Marius was concerned you might not be able to hear or speak. You’ve reacted to enough auditory stimuli to answer the first part. But what about the second? And remember, there is no judgment here. I only want to know what I need to do to help.”

Grantaire considered this. How much humiliation would he be spared if mute? But how much pain could he endure before breaking? He already knew that answer. He was so weak. 

He nodded. “Yes,” he added aloud. There was no slap or sigh of exasperation. Someone would teach him the proper manners soon. He was even weaker than he thought. Far too weak to try running outside.

Joly lit up. “Wonderful. I’m so proud of you for answering. Is there anything else you need to feel comfortable or safe before we talk a little?”

“To die.” The light fled. 

“No, no, no. No. I promise whatever happened to you, even if it takes a long, long time, you will heal from it. I swear. And if you want any of us to help you, we will. Or if you want us to help you go somewhere else, we can do that too. You already know we have a horse.”

“Not worth it,” Grantaire rasped. 

“Of course you’re worth it. And no – if I can guess what you’re thinking, it doesn’t matter we don’t know you. It’s clear you survived some horrible circumstances, and it was only right to take you in. Marius would’ve brought you back here once he saw you needed help, no matter who you were.”

This pain was the worst of all. They had no intended use for him. He would not have a special purpose. His death would’ve hurt no one.

It took all his concentration but he rolled over. Some potatoes hit the ground. Joly talked at him some more before departing. Could a broken heart kill no matter the reason? He resolved to see before anyone else came. 

All he managed was to sleep fitfully. Other people came and asked questions that he ignored. He only drank the water offered to avoid choking. Same with the weak broth. He wept whenever Joly came to help with the bathroom. He could always see a head outside of his window. He could always hear someone in the hall. There was no way out. It couldn’t get any worse.

One morning it did.

Lying down after Joly’s predawn visit was too much. He listened to Jehan sing to birds on the porch. It was a change from staring at the wall silently. Then Jehan sang louder as two men entered the yard. They ran out to greet them. Whoever was in the hall opened the front door. Moving sounded impossible. But he could hear four distinct voices outside. 

He tried to stand and landed on hands and knees. Shame paralyzed him for precious moments. He was still naked, and his knees were tender. He crawled to the door and opened it. The front door was right there. So was everyone else. How much time had he wasted? He had a vague idea of crawling backwards. He made the mistake of looking up first. One man was a ginger but otherwise nondescript. Or maybe that was just in comparison to the other.

The second man was tall, even when Grantaire accounted for his groveling, and his hair was radiantly blonde as it cascaded down his shoulders, and every feature from his elegant face to his feet was exquisitely perfect. Grantaire waited to spontaneously ascend to an astral plane. Then he got over his shock and saw this being, because thinking of him just as a man felt false, incorrect, a lie, was bright red and was touching the knife on his belt. Grantaire would forgive the universe for all the interim misery if it had wanted him to wait to die now, at these angelic hands. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? We save your life and you can’t even be bothered to answer a couple of questions?”

“Enjolras,” murmured Combeferre and touched his arm. He sometimes came to help when Joly was busy, and Grantaire wanted to die in a whole different way thinking about Combeferre touching this being – Enjolras, after having touched Grantaire in such disgustingly intimate ways. 

“No, Combeferre.” Enjolras shrugged him off. “I have every right to be angry. Trauma is no excuse. He didn’t do it to himself. What if whoever did that comes here, comes to our home, hurts our people, kills you, kills Courfeyrac, because you couldn’t bring yourself to ask the hard questions?”

“Enjolras, I think you should take your hand off your knife. Let me get Marius and we can discuss this outside. We will work out a solution.”

“They’re all dead. I think. Sir.”

Somehow, Enjolras turned even redder, though he did let go of his knife. “Why did you ca-”

“How did they die?” Combeferre interrupted. 

“I don’t know.” Grantaire flailed his arms. Now he sounded like a flippant asshole, and he hadn’t even been up for five minutes. He settled to his knees and bowed his head. That helped. It reminded him all he had to do was do exactly what Enjolras wanted, which was answer questions. “I mean, I don’t know exactly.” He looked up at Combeferre for a moment to try to convey how earnest his unhelpful answer was, and maybe to also get a glimpse of Enjolras. “Everyone started getting sick. I – I didn’t. Well, I didn’t feel good. But I don’t think it was the same thing. I got better. No one else did. And then – then I – left.” He couldn’t bear to look up and see how Enjolras was regarding him now.

“If there was an exposure risk, it’s already happened,” Combeferre said quietly. From the way his feet turned, he was probably holding Enjolras back. But why should he? Grantaire had done nothing but lay around in bed, couldn’t even piss on his own, had been in close contact with several of the inhabitants of the house, who would’ve spread any germs everywhere. He might have just killed all these people – he didn’t even know how many. And he was still so, so weak – he wished that Enjolras would take care of him, and then he’d never have to know how much death he had wrought.

No one said a word. Grantaire dared peek up to see Enjolras’s eyes roaming over his body. He considered turning around to fully present himself, but Enjolras’s frown seemed more in line with disgust than excitement, and not disgust at Grantaire’s behavior but more at his existence in general. 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said more firmly and pushed him back a few steps towards the door. “Outside, now. We need to talk. In private.”

“Can I – am I – will you allow me to stay?” Grantaire used every remaining ounce of strength in his body to look up. “Please?” If he wasn’t allowed to die, that would only seem fair.

“I will permit it, for now,” Enjolras said without bothering to turn back around.

Grantaire burst into tears.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras had said Grantaire could stay. He hadn’t said anything about feeding him. Or that he wasn’t just meant to die in isolation. Or from it.

Bossuet was stationed on the porch. Grantaire wasn’t meant to leave either. At least he had his blanket back. He wouldn’t be naked when the time came.

It was still worth it to meet Enjolras. Or see him. For about ten seconds. Grantaire stared at the wall while waiting for the end.

“Oh, hello!” Marius entered the room. How poetic. At the beginning and the end. “I didn’t know you were awake. I just came to clean my hand.” He did just that without another word. He turned a little as he rewrapped it. Grantaire saw the scabs. The scabs that looked like teeth marks. The teeth marks he had made. When trying to be good and suckle a stranger’s fingers.

That remained more embarrassing than his pathetic dry heaves. He pulled himself up to sit. Maybe he could still choke in that position. No luck. Marius came to turn him. His body eventually gave up. There was nothing inside to remove but his shame. And that was a permanent resident.

“Does that help you calm down?” Marius whispered.

Dry heaving was not particularly soothing. 

“No, no. I didn’t – I meant the rocking.” Marius waved at him. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I wasn’t sure if I should say something. I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want me to. It’s just – Joly and Ferre – Combeferre, I mean, are worried about your – your lack of progress. If there’s something that can help comfort you….” He trailed off. He kept looking at Grantaire’s body. He didn’t hurt or humiliate him when Grantaire couldn’t stop. 

“I have an idea. Say no if you don’t like it. I know it just helps me.” Marius fumbled in his pockets. He presented Grantaire with a piece of yarn. “I know it’s a very personal thing, but I like the texture. And it gives me something to do with my hands. Sometimes I like to card wool for Jehan too, but I don’t think Joly would like that right now, since he said it’s still awhile before you can eat solid food. I don’t want to tire you out.”

Grantaire took the yarn. The blanket fell from one shoulder. Marius looked at his bare torso but did nothing. He still quickly covered himself again. 

The yarn didn’t feel like anything special. It was long enough to twist around his fingers. That was better. It did keep his hands busy. And left him energy for staring at the wall. 

“Why do you keep using the present tense?” It also made it too easy to think.

Marius blinked. He mouthed some words. He frowned and mouthed a few more. “Oh, you think I should be using past tense? Because Enjolras was angry with you? Do I have that right?”

Grantaire nodded. He looped the yarn too tightly around one finger. Even better.

“I see. He can be very confusing for me to deal with too! He’s not really angry at you!” The shouting had indicated otherwise. “He can just…be angry, a lot. And isn’t the best about controlling it sometimes. He has gotten better at that. I think he was just extra cranky after being out on the road with Feuilly for so long. It all comes from a good place. At least that’s what Courfeyrac has told me. Usually while Combeferre talks to Enjolras, so I’m not sure if that’s completely true. But I know he wasn’t just doing it to hurt you.”

“I can’t even walk,” Grantaire croaked. “He was ready to throw me out.” Not that he didn’t want that. 

“No. No, no, no.” Marius paused. “He was more worried about…people throwing themselves in. That’s a clumsy metaphor. He will help anyone who needs it, but not without asking a lot of questions first. This – whole thing has been hard on him. So maybe not really anyone then, not anymore, everyone has to pass judgment first.”

Grantaire twitched. It hadn’t exactly been easy for him. Though it never had been.

Enjolras knocked as he came in, and it continued to be not easy – extra hard, in fact, given the way a few damp locks of hair clung to his forehead. The lack of yelling made it even harder. Grantaire knew how to cope with that: sit there and bless the reprieve from his immediate suffering. He knew how to cope with everything else, of course, but he was in no state to make any of it pleasurable, and Enjolras was frowning deeply and not looking like he had really changed his mind. Grantaire needed more strength if he was going to have to work his way off probation. 

“Marius, could you give us a few minutes?”

“Are you going to yell again? You know it stresses me out. Even if I’m in a different room.”

Enjolras sighed and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “No, I’m going to yell. You have my word.” Now that he was indeed not yelling, Grantaire could see just how many lines on Enjolras’s face were permanently etched there. Some of that terrible frown might even be permanent too. The jury would probably have to wait quite awhile to decide that one, though.

Enjolras took a chair. He kept frowning. “I also gave Combeferre my word that I would not yell. And that I would apologize for earlier. I should’ve seen the state you were in.” Grantaire wondered at himself that he even considered for one nanosecond pointing out that wasn’t technically an apology. No one ever apologized to him, anyway. “To be honest, it wasn’t really you I was concerned about, per se.” That made more sense. “I was concerned you had been sent here, that you intended to take away information and bring back others with ill intentions.” Enjolras coughed. “I now see Combeferre’s logic that you weren’t in a state to be going anywhere.” Yes, more sense, now that Enjolras could see just how useless Grantaire was. He might die either way, but this way seemed preferable. Rather Enjolras think him worthless than a spy. 

“That being said, I still wish to know how you came here. I know Marius found you, obviously.”

Grantaire contemplated feigning mute. He discarded the thought – unlikely to work and very likely to make Enjolras stop staring directly into his eyes like that. “I went out to die.”

“Why?” Enjolras’s expression didn’t change.

“I didn’t want to live any longer.” Grantaire bit back the rest of his response. This was a horrible bad not good way to want to respond. He had been trained out of this long ago. He didn’t want to learn those lessons again, even from Enjolras.

“Why?”

“I – my mas – the people I was with. They got sick. All of them. They had to – I had to be able to help them. And then none of them were strong enough to follow me.”

Enjolras half-stood. “Did you get sick?”

“No, no!” Grantaire flinched at how loud he had gotten. “No, sir,” he added, which made Enjolras stand all the way up, then sit down, then repeat the process a few more times. Grantaire didn’t know what that meant, but he tried again during one of the sitting down moments. “I – I think I had already had it. Before, you know, well.”

“Is there any chance someone could have recovered? Was there a physician with you?” Enjolras stood again and began to pace. “Well, no, probably not, if they made you help.” That stung, even though Grantaire had dragged his ass as slowly as possible through every nursing duty on top of being utterly clueless. Once he even took a nap by the river when he was supposed to be fetching water. But still. He wasn’t a total idiot – he knew about fluids and rest and all the other things he was denied. 

But still – he wanted to keep being alone in the same room as Enjolras forever.

“I don’t know.” He swallowed and looked down. “I – I don’t even know where I am. I don’t know how they would find me.” He realized he was stretching his piece of yarn so hard it almost broke. Enjolras opened his mouth and quickly closed it.

“They would come looking for you then, if they could?”

“I don’t know. Please, sir,” he added when Enjolras stopped pacing precariously near the door. “I honestly don’t. They always said – it would be a lot of effort. It would probably be easier for them to just – find someone else.”

Enjolras stepped closer to the bed. That was even more precarious than him standing at the door. “And for what purpose did they – find you?” 

That question was just utter cruelty. Combeferre and Joly must know, very intimately, just what had happened. Fuck, it couldn’t have been that hard for Enjolras to see either, not with the agony even the softest touch still caused. And given the sheer number of words Marius went around saying, he had probably blabbed it in five seconds. Yet cruel or not, Enjolras just continued to stand there and watch him.

Grantaire was so pathetic he couldn’t force himself to say the actual words. Not under Enjolras’s intense gaze. In fact, he couldn’t keep looking at that gaze at all. He curled his hand around his yarn, before pushing down his blanket and rolling over. It took a few breaths to find the courage to spread himself apart. It was nothing Enjolras hadn’t already seen, he reminded himself. Well, maybe not quite this graphically, but it wasn’t that far removed. And if Enjolras had directly ordered him to do this, he would’ve complied without a second thought. He made himself count his heartbeats, until he was too dizzy to remember numbers. “I’m sorry, sir. I promise I can heal, if that’s what you want. If this isn’t what you like.” He swallowed twice. “Or I can hurt myself more, if you’d prefer, I can-”

“Fuck. Fuck, no.” Enjolras was a little quieter and when Grantaire dared lift his head, he saw it was because Enjolras had turned away.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Grantaire said again. “I can – my mouth and hands – I can do other things. I can do whatever you want.” Enjolras gave an odd laugh, so he added, “Or what anyone else wants. If you tell me to. Sir.” He didn’t even know how many other people there were, but he was willing to try for all sorts of records if that’s what would please Enjolras best.

“No – no. You are – you are absolutely not going to be forced to do anything against your will. Especially not like that.”

Grantaire nodded, even though Enjolras couldn’t see. He was stupid for not guessing sooner. “I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to pretend – to enjoy it when I’m already…already like this. But I promise I’ll try.” He would try anything, anything if Enjolras would just turn around.

“Please cover yourself back up. This discussion is too important to have like this.”

Grantaire obeyed. He also forced himself not to dry heave again. This was probably also too important for that. “I’m sorry I repulse you, sir,” he mumbled. Why were his eyes burning? He knew why. He was so worthless, he couldn’t even be good for this one thing, this one excruciatingly simple thing, even now, when he wouldn’t mind.

Enjolras softened a little and gave that same odd laugh. “No, you don’t repulse me. Not like that. I see now I should’ve perhaps guessed on my own. Even Marius says I can be rather oblivious.” Grantaire had to agree but didn’t say a word. Except he couldn’t help himself for long.

“Does this mean – can I stay?”

“Yes. I swear it was not my intention to hurt you further, not like this. I will continue the current plan of having extra people on watch through the night, if that brings you any comfort. When Combeferre and Joly agree you can get up, we will find – constructive ways for you to be use – helpful.” He sighed and tucked the same errant piece of hair behind his ear.

“Can I – one question? Please?” That wasn’t how interrogations normally worked, but also nothing worked where Grantaire was left unmolested. 

Enjolras inclined his head.

“If – if you had decided I was – a threat, a spy, whatever, what – what would have happened?”

Enjolras blinked slowly. “I would’ve executed you.”

“Would anyone have tried to intervene?” Marius didn’t seem like to pro-execution type. He didn’t even seem like the pro-death type, given how he hauled Grantaire out of the mud and who knew how many miles to this place.

“It would have been irrelevant. My duty is to protect everyone, no matter the cost. It would be my burden to bear, if I felt it was a burden at all.”

“I might wish you had done that,” Grantaire blurted out. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his life would be like, what one single day would be like, if he didn’t have to sleep with anyone for food or water or rest or just a few minutes alone. He couldn’t believe anyone, not even Enjolras, could possibly think of some other way for him to earn those things. 

“I am sorry,” Enjolras offered. Still not an apology, but he looked a lot less likely to hurl Grantaire through the nearest window. “Combeferre and Joly will do all that is in their power to help.” He turned to go and stopped after opening the door. “It would be a burden to all of us, to me, to know you had been saved only to continue to suffer. If it is within my power, that will not be your fate. Be easy.”

Grantaire would’ve laughed at the surely unintended double entendre if it wouldn’t have come out as a hiccup.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My search history is getting real wild again. It feels good.

Grantaire wasn’t sure he was ready to sit up. He was sure Enjolras had gone out to keep watch. Thankfully Courfeyrac was the one stationed on the porch. He needed to focus, not tease Grantaire through the window. 

There was a risk. How long from recovery to service? A day? He wanted to pretend two but that was ridiculous. How much food had he already eaten, for nothing? So definitely just a day. At most. There was so much unhealed damage. He couldn’t bear investigating for himself, but he could tell. Combeferre and Joly were gentle, and it was still agony. Maybe he could just do physical labor at first? Not that it wouldn’t be awful. He could be hurt in so many other ways. 

Or it could be for the best. Or the less worst. He could demonstrate how useful he could be. How much better it would be for him to work. How he could do more than just that one thing. There were so many people here. It must take so much to keep the place going. And he could be so very helpful. 

He could be very busy, except at night. And with so many people, that could be alright. He could be so good to the gentle ones. And Enjolras. That would be alright.

But was doing this alone alright? He wanted to ask Combeferre or Joly for permission. He had to start being good again. Why had he let himself lapse so much? No wonder Enjolras had yelled at him. He deserved it. Not a mercy killing, not an end to his suffering. 

He was exhausted and still hadn’t even moved. 

But Enjolras was outside. And his watch wouldn’t last forever. And how long would it be until his next one? It was odd no one had come for him. Was this a type of punishment? They knew he would want to see Enjolras. They knew he would be too weak. Pretty mild, all things considered. Yet he wished for something more normal. It wouldn’t hurt as much.

He heard Enjolras call to Courfeyrac. His heart stopped. No, the tone was friendly. Courfeyrac was still seated. No one had come for Grantaire. 

Grantaire closed his eyes. He put his hands by his ribs. They sank into the mattress. Time for a new plan. He inched up bit by bit. The wall was a good support. So was the window. Combeferre bending to kiss Courfeyrac was not. Combeferre standing up to see Grantaire was not. No, he was already in too deep. And there was no choice. 

Combeferre didn’t come for a half hour. Now there was no hope.

He waited. He wished his heart would stop again, and stay stopped.

Combeferre came in. He had a tray with more broth and water. He had a bundle under one arm. And his doctoring bag. Grantaire kept his face blank. Who was Combeferre tending to in the early hours? Nothing secret, not if Enjolras knew.

It would take a lot of people to keep the place going. Well, maybe not exactly people, per se. Why hadn’t he been sent out there? Wherever there was. 

He wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take infinite people to maintain the place. 

Combeferre settled the tray in Grantaire’s lap. Grantaire didn’t move. He had to be so very good. He couldn’t forget any little thing. “I’m glad to see you feeling better this morning.” Combeferre set a garment on the table. “Do you feel up to feeding and dressing yourself?” Grantaire nodded as fast as he could. Being good didn’t mean he had to be stupid. “That’s a really good sign. I’ll give you a little time to yourself. But no need to rush. I know it must be hard, but you have to remember to eat slowly.”

Grantaire remained motionless until the door shut. He listened to Combeferre walk away. He checked that Courfeyrac wasn’t looking. He saw Enjolras walking a perimeter around the open yard. 

It was properly dawn now, though the sun was well below the trees. But it was enough light to see Enjolras by. Or maybe it was just the man’s own light, since he looked too ethereal to be human. His blonde hair was dry and clean and practically glowed. Would he ever earn the privilege of touching it? It was long enough to be braided. It must get in Enjolras’s face sometimes. That could be a good dream to hold on to. 

He wore a warm jacket, somewhere between orange and red. It didn’t matter where the sun actually was, for now Grantaire saw Enjolras was the sunrise itself. He continued his rounds, striding slow but sure. He stopped at random points to gaze intensely into the woods. Not that Grantaire could see his eyes, but he still knew. Enjolras kept a hand on his knife, fingers fussing with the strap. 

“Do you need some help after all?” Combeferre asked from the door. 

Grantaire deserved the biggest reward for not spilling broth everywhere. Except he was also guaranteed the biggest punishment. He had been taught so many times. He couldn’t be good, not really. And still he couldn’t remember. This time it would stick. There was no way it couldn’t. 

“Let’s get you dressed first,” Combeferre said when Grantaire didn’t reply. He unfolded the garment. It was a shirt large enough to be a smock. So much for the punishment staying physical. But there was also a pair of underwear? So Combeferre wouldn’t punish him then. And whoever did wanted to strip him. Wonderful. At least both items were soft and warm. He just needed to earn the right to keep them. The smock was a putrid yellow-green. If Enjolras looked like the sun, he looked like vomit. Perfect.

“It’s unfortunate you came at just about the worst time of year for Jehan to make you something. They said they finally scrounged up enough yarn,. I hope you can make do with Bahorel’s spare shirt in the mean time.” Grantaire rubbed the wool under his fingers. Jehan was knitting him his own clothes? That couldn’t be right. And no doubt they would never find enough wool. He would just have to be exposed. But then why cover him now? 

Oh, that was right, for his massive horrific impending punishment. “I do apologize about the color. Jehan said it was another experiment gone wrong, but you can never be sure with them.” 

And now there were experiments. Grantaire was well and truly fucked. 

Combeferre settled him with the broth and spoon. He went to sit in the corner with his bag. There was the sharp scent of alcohol. Instruments clanked. Grantaire couldn’t think about it.

It was exhausting to feed himself. He tried to look for Enjolras again. All he could see was Courfeyrac’s head. Unless he wanted to be stupidly, stupidly obvious again. He was distracted by the potato in his broth. He had graduated to proper soup. He would be earning his keep today, without a doubt.

“I need to get some rest after last night, so Marius offered to come sit with you awhile.”

Grantaire nodded once. He actually didn’t mine, but he had plausible deniability. He was just showing he had heard. Combeferre went out and Marius came in. He took his book and charcoal pencil to the desk. “Good morning,” he said and then went to work. 

Of course that was when Enjolras and Courfeyrac came in. Watching Feuilly walk around was not particularly interesting. Hearing Enjolras speaking softly in the hall was. He sounded…concerned. Grantaire almost broke his spoon when he poked his head in. His face was flushed from the morning chill. He had opened his jacket and the shirt underneath was the same color but had the added benefit showed off his collarbone. He needed to stop gawping, but he just couldn’t. He should stop promising himself he could improve. 

“All well, Marius?” he asked.

Marius wrote for a minute longer before looking up. “Yes, thanks. Sometimes I think Combeferre can work miracles.”

“Do you want to know what other kind of miracles he can work?” Courfeyrac asked from the hall.

“Not particularly,” Marius said and picked up his pencil. His face was blank in a way Grantaire recognized. Enjolras pressed his lips very firmly together, and Grantaire snorted. 

Everyone looked at him. Courfeyrac poked his head in under Enjolras’s to participate.

“Good morning! It’s wonderful to see you up.” Courfeyrac beamed. Hopefully he was one of the gentle ones. He elbowed Enjolras in the ribs in a decidedly ungentle way. Enjolras’s eyes were wide, which only emphasized how blue they were. Or maybe that was just because Grantaire couldn’t stop staring. 

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Good morning.” There was an awkward pause. Marius kept on writing. “I’m glad to see you’re starting to feel better.”

“Combeferre said he needs more rest,” Marius offered almost as a question.

“Yes, then we should leave. I hope you continue to improve.” 

Grantaire fiddled with his spoon. Marius kept working. 

“Did he tell you?” Grantaire blurted out when he could take no more. Which only took about two minutes.

Marius eventually set his pencil down and turned around. “I need you to be more specific, please.”

Grantaire swallowed. “Did – did Enjolras.” He had to pause. “About – about what I did.”

Marius picked up his pencil to twirl in his fingers. Grantaire was thankful he didn’t look at him. There was a long silence. 

“He had a private conversation with Combeferre and Joly last night. And then Courfeyrac sat with him a bit. Courf said he was distressed. Do you think those are related?” From Marius it sounded like a question and not cruelty. 

“Did – did they tell anyone else?”

“I can’t say for certain.” Grantaire swallowed. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. “If you would like me to guess, no, I highly doubt it. There was a reason Enjolras kept his conversations private and with the people he did.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispered. 

“Combeferre and Joly did give us a very brief summary of your condition. It was just the very basics. In case you called out, or even managed to get up, they wanted everyone to be prepared if they were the first one there.”

“You already know.”

“Know what?” Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to explain. “Oh, because I found you? I didn’t. I was too concerned trying to keep you warm and checking your pulse.” Marius looked up. “I am very sorry if I hurt you more.”

“If you did, I couldn’t feel it then. And now I can’t separate any of it.”

“You’re still in pain then? I should’ve asked sooner. Let me go get you some tea. Combeferre must have forgotten with everything else on his mind.” Marius left before Grantaire could respond. 

Marius returned some time later with a mug. The tea was hot and tasted minty, but sweeter. It did ease his pain. Maybe he had been getting more than water and broth. He set the empty mug on the tray. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Marius said, again absorbed in his writing. Time passed. Grantaire dozed. No one came for him. No one hurt him or used him. No one even made him get up. 

“May I ask you something?” Marius asked in the late morning. Grantaire nodded, but Marius didn’t turn.

“Yes,” he forced out. 

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind telling me. We asked you a lot but Combeferre and Joly said you might have been too out of it. And I know I shouldn’t just ask. Courfeyrac said if I didn’t think it was a good time, I should just assume it wasn’t. I am just working out our supplies, and it really bothers me having to leave your spot blank. I know most people would say that’s trivial.”

“I won’t get fed anymore?” Grantaire said without thinking. They wouldn’t actually starve him to death. Just groveling for every scrap of food was hard. Everything else would be hard enough.

“What? Oh no. No no no. Here.” Marius carried his pencil and book over. He showed Grantaire a table with names and supplies. There was a row at the bottom without a name. It was filled in with rations. “If writing it would be easier, you can do that.”

Grantaire took the pencil. “You’re not – going to choose?”

“Choose what?” 

Grantaire shook his head. “Never mind.” His hand shook and he smudged the charcoal. 

But he was officially R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I assign myself the agony of writing a slow burn? I promise I have cuteness planned and I'm honestly probably the one most excited for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself not to get too bogged down in mundane details when there's emotional E/R to write, and then I read four different articles on how to properly prep fresh carrots for storage.

Grantaire had finally been put to work. Cleaning carrots. 

And that wasn’t even a euphemism. 

He hadn’t just gotten an additional day after recovering. He had gotten a whole week. And so much potato soup. And a little portion of canned peaches every night. And countless hours of sleep. And a proper shirt and pair of pants. And his own underwear. And his own socks. It was mystifying, and terrifying. 

If he had owed a debt before…. But he would throw up if he thought about it. And Combeferre and Joly had made it clear he shouldn’t. No wonder - they had cleaned him up too much already. At least he was finally beyond that. 

Except Combeferre had still practically carried him to the porch. Marius had brought his blankets. Jehan continuously brought more carrots in their wooden wheelbarrow. 

No one brought Enjolras. What a childish thing to be crushed by. He had seen Enjolras on watch ten times. Actually more, but he was too pathetic to keep counting. Not once he hit double digits. And why would he even come? Enjolras had been crystal clear that he didn’t want him. Grantaire could feel tears forming, again. Maybe Enjolras would come by? But he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve anything these people gave him.

He needed to focus on his work. But that was so hard. He wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, or tired. He wasn’t in any new pain. He hadn’t been threatened with any punishment. He hadn’t been touched after Combeferre put him down. He wasn’t even being leered at. 

And the work was easy - too easy. To his left was a mound of freshly picked carrots. There was a box for the clean ones. At his feet was a bucket for collecting the dirt. To his right was a tarp for the greens. Because that was all he had to do. Take carrot from pile. Remove greens and put on tarp. Wipe dirt into bucket. Put clean carrot into box. Wipe hands on soft woolen towel. Repeat. 

No pain. No humiliation. No constantly changing rules. No impossible scenarios. Nothing that made sense. 

That gave him something to think on. 

Was this a test? They had to know he wasn’t hungry. 

Did they think he would steal? The clothes he was given did have pockets. But Feuilly was a few yards away on watch. Marius was in reach, scribbling in his book. 

They wanted to see how stupid he was. As if they needed a test for that. They could’ve just asked. 

Maybe he should pretend to fall for it. Show them just how right they were. And they would absolutely have to punish him then. He didn’t really want that punishment. But how else would he find out what it was? He swallowed hard.

What if they drove him away? He would surely starve in the woods. No, Enjolras had promised any end would be merciful. Death by exposure was decidedly not that. 

“R, is something wrong?” Marius held his pencil poised but still. 

Grantaire looked down. He was giving a carrot an excellent handjob. Except for the dirt smeared all over his hands. 

“We can go back inside if this is too much.”

Grantaire opened his mouth but said nothing. How much would he be punished for stopping work? For absolutely no reason? Maybe he should find out. He finally shook his head. He diligently cleaned seven more carrots until Marius stopped watching. He did another for seven, for good luck.

Then he started working on his technique. Some of the carrots were quite small. Small enough to put under the towel on his lap. He practiced that several times. No one paid any attention. He paused to wipe his hands totally clean. He opened the blanket around his shoulders. He pushed his lap blanket down a bit. He could see the pants pocket. Still no one paid any attention. 

Every eighth carrot found its way to that pocket. It was entirely magical thinking. Seven was not a secret lucky number. But he allowed himself that in this upside-down place. 

Then his stomach flipped upside-down too. “Good afternoon, R,” Enjolras said as he came out. Grantaire stared up at him stupidly. Enjolras stared back. Grantaire went to wipe the sweat from his brow, that would be something at least, and instead smeared dirt across his face. And Enjolras still hadn’t looked away. He studied Grantaire more closely, if anything else. “Good afternoon, Marius,” he added, but Marius only mumbled a reply and did nothing to rescue Grantaire from his predicament. 

It became truly horrible when Enjolras shrugged out of his jacket. He couldn’t possibly be planning to strip naked on the porch in the middle of the afternoon, but Grantaire was a little dizzy just considering it. Enjolras laid it across the railing, and Grantaire wished it could’ve been draped across him instead. How absolutely pathetic, which Enjolras finally realized because he blinked a few times, turned to go touch Feuilly on the shoulder, and then went into the yard without another word. 

Grantaire gave himself permission to sit quietly for a minute. Enjolras had gone around the side of the house. This was the end of the fantasy for the day. He could live on it for another week. There was nothing to complain about.

Except then Enjolras came back, carrying an ax at his side. He went out to a far corner of the yard, where a stack of uncut logs of various sizes sat in the grass, next to a large stump. What Enjolras lacked in technique, he made up for in enthusiasm. This same enthusiasm required extensive use his back and ass muscles, not that Grantaire could see anything beyond the general motion, but it was still enough he had to pull the lap blanket back up. He wasn’t quite ready to find out what would happen if he was caught hard in pants while gaping at Enjolras, on top of not working. At least his pocket was at full capacity with carrots. 

He nearly jumped through the porch roof when Jehan arrived with their next load to find him still sitting motionless, and probably drooling to boot. Jehan unloaded the carrots and came up on the porch, and Grantaire knew this would be it. Jehan had been naked in bed with him, that he could remember – they knew intimately just how disgusting he was. But instead of slapping Grantaire, or throwing him to the ground, or taking advantage of his open mouth, they just murmured words of praise and encouragement that Grantaire couldn’t understand. They moved everything out of the way so that they could drag the tarp of greens to a more open space. Then they sat down, took some string out of their pocket, and began to tie the greens into loose bundles. 

Grantaire tried to stay awake. It wasn’t like he had even really done anything. He hadn’t even walked on his own. But Jehan was singing softly and Marius was still writing and Enjolras had said hello to him and when he closed his eyes he could better imagine Enjolras’s jacket draped around him instead of the railing.

“You’re awake,” Enjolras said to him in the twilight of his dream. Grantaire’s perverse wish had been granted and he let himself burrow into Enjolras’s jacket until only his eyes poked out. It smelled like Enjolras because his imagination was in charge, when his rational mind knew it was just the scent of wool and dried sweat. 

“Would you like another blanket?” Enjolras asked and made as if to rise. Grantaire frantically shook his head until Enjolras settled back in his chair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a dream that wasn’t just a nightmare. He wasn’t about to waste a single second of it. He tried his best to memorize Enjolras’s face, but his hair and collarbone were very distracting. Enjolras continued to observe him in return. All that attention was intoxicating. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Enjolras finally said. Grantaire shrugged. It was pretty shitty his subconscious hadn’t conjured this up sooner, but that had nothing to do with Enjolras. “Combeferre told me to give you some space, that rest and quiet were what you needed most, but I let that justify my absence for far longer than was warranted.” Enjolras looked out at the yard for some time. He didn’t turn his head back when he spoke again.

“The world was a fucking awful place before all this happened. But I knew who I was and what to do about it. I liked to think my privilege gave me the time and resources to help others, that I would never, couldn’t possibly, turn away from someone in need. That was my life’s purpose.

“Now – now I feel like it takes everything I have to keep everyone here from wanting. I refuse to think there’s something wrong with that in principle – they’re my family. But it seems keeping all my other principles alongside that is harder than I like to think. Harder for me than I like to think.

“The first thing I should’ve done was made you feel welcome and protected. It’s no excuse for my behavior, but when I’m gone, sometimes all I can think about it is everyone here, everyone I know and love, dead, or the house razed, or all our supplies ruined, or…or, I don’t know. My mind seems to find endless scenarios, unfortunately. 

“Well, except for a stranger saying he had fled from a dangerous group who could theoretically follow him here. It was like all those fears were coming true, except not, so there was no constructive action I could take. So I took it out on you. And then stayed hostile. I do sincerely apologize.”

When he finally looked at Grantaire, Grantaire just shrugged again. Enjolras waited a minute and then prompted, “R?”

“It’s fine.” He smiled stupidly under the jacket and was glad Enjolras couldn’t see, not really. This was supposed to be a good dream, after all. “I understand. Well, no, I don’t really, but that doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” Enjolras softened.

“R, you’re awake!” said Joly from the doorway, shattering the moment. No, this wasn’t a nightmare. Because it wasn’t a dream.

“I was just coming to get Enjolras for dinner. I’ll make you up a bowl of soup.” Grantaire couldn’t move. “Enjolras – where is your jacket? You’re going to catch your death of cold out here. It’s hardly even spring.” Joly looked around and sighed heavily when he saw Grantaire clutching Enjolras’s jacket. 

Grantaire tried to stand up, but he was stiff from the cold, and also pathetically weak, and already sore from his earlier work, and he toppled to the ground. His hip throbbed extra hard for such a short fall. A bruise would blossom before he was even back in bed, or sent wherever they planned to send him for punishment. 

“Let me go get Combeferre,” Joly said.

“No need,” Enjolras said as he bent to scoop Grantaire up. He carried him to the sick room with ease. Grantaire panted from the exertion of not falling out of his arms. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Grantaire babbled after he was laid down and had caught his breath. 

“Hush, I need to build up the fire before Joly has my head.” 

“That’s right,” Joly agreed, bustling back in with the promised bowl of soup. “You should feel much warmer once you eat this. I sent Jehan to go get some blankets that haven’t been outside for the last three hours.”

Three hours? That’s all it took for Grantaire to be devastated in every way possible? And yet he was getting hot soup and warm blankets. He had his doubts about the second part, but in less than a minute Jehan had appeared in the door with two blankets. Enjolras was studiously poking the fire. For him. Just for him.

“You go on and keep eating, R,” Joly instructed as he came over. “I’m just going to swap these out really quickly.” 

Grantaire nodded, trying to focus on not spilling his soup while watching Enjolras out of the corner of his eye. These were new distractions, more pleasant than what he was accustomed to, which maybe explained his lapse but didn’t excuse it. With both hands and his mind, and maybe other things, fully occupied, he let Joly poke and prod him around. 

He shifted Grantaire to one hip. There was a solitary thud, followed by a steady stream of more, as every single carrot in his pocket dropped to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was told to spend my work day documenting all my tasks, and I wrote this. I am nothing if not on brand.

Grantaire stared at the evidence of his crime. Joly still held him on his side. It was the obvious place to look. It had nothing to do with Enjolras. 

It had nothing to do with not wanting to see his fury. Or his loathing. Or his judgment.

Or his disappointment. 

Grantaire should be happy. This was exactly what he wanted, to be caught doing the most awful thing he could imagine. To have whoever caught him then go to Enjolras to determine the most awful punishment in retribution. He hadn’t expected Enjolras to be a witness. 

He hadn’t expected Enjolras to notice he was cold, or to choose not to notice he was sleeping when he had been ordered to work, or to carry him to bed like some sort of virginal bride. He didn’t know Enjolras could pay attention to him like that. 

Grantaire should be grateful. In mere moments he would know what the rules here were, what the punishments were. No more fear, no more anxiety. Dread, yes, lots and lots and lots of dread, but that would have been an improvement. But not any longer, not that he had been allowed a tiny glimpse of what could have been. 

Whatever happened now, he had already suffered the worst conceivable punishment. 

“R?” Enjolras asked. 

Grantaire rolled off the bed before Joly could push him. Soup splattered everywhere. He closed his eyes against the pain in his knees. It was better than breaking his nose. He didn’t need to add choking on his own blood to his impending doom. 

He heard Enjolras walk towards him. Even when his boots stopped in his peripheral vision, the sound continued and a wave of heat washed over his head, proving Enjolras really was some sort of supernatural being. 

He realized the sound was his heart pounding in his ears. And the feeling flowed from the red hot poker in Enjolras’s hand. 

He knew he could bear it. By some miracle that knowledge was enough to keep him from dry heaving. He waited to hear the screaming he wouldn’t immediately recognize as his own. He waited for the pain that would obliterate every thought he had ever had, ever would have. 

He couldn’t help the flinch when the heat flickered, but then it was gone, and he was hoisted back to the bed by warm hands. Enjolras’s hands. Enjolras’s empty hands because Jehan was setting the poker back on the hearth. 

“R, what happened?” 

He shivered, which turned into continuous full-body trembling. He clutched at the blankets and came up with a handful of Enjolras’s jacket. He squeezed as hard as he could. “I stole food.” 

“You took a handful of carrots. I would use the word hid, instead of stole, but it doesn’t seem entirely appropriate in this case. I want to understand why.”

Grantaire swallowed. “I stole food.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Enjolras pointed out, slightly irritated. Grantaire wished he would at least slap him. Then he would have a clue of what Enjolras expected. 

“I-I broke the rules.” He shuddered. It was so much harder to admit with Enjolras staring down at him. 

“What rules?” Enjolras was now mildly annoyed, but he still didn’t lay a finger on Grantaire. 

This was cruel, too cruel. But punishments were supposed to be cruel. But never like this. “I’m...I’m not allowed, sir.” 

Enjolras sighed but before he could hit Grantaire, or throw him to the ground, or rip his clothes off, Marius was between them. Grantaire sagged. He let himself tip over and curled into the fetal position, pulling a tangle of blankets and jacket to his chest. 

“Enjolras, I think R needs some space.” Marius didn’t give Enjolras much of a choice, marching him over to the chair by the fire. Marius’s hand was shaking when he released Enjolras’s shoulder. He found Grantaire’s string under his pillow and gave it to him. How long had Grantaire been rocking himself? Little wonder Enjolras was frustrated with him.

Marius went to sit on the floor at the foot of the bed. “R, can you tell me what happened? Take as much time as you need.” 

It was so much easier this way. Grantaire knew Enjolras was still staring at him from across the room, but Marius was focused on running a finger around the bedpost. “I broke the rules,” he managed. 

“What rules?”

“I stole food,” Grantaire whispered. Now he was just having the same conversation in reverse. Maybe everything else would rewind and he could undo this mess. Or Enjolras would think Grantaire even more insubordinate. 

“Why?”

This was it. There was no way out. He had wanted this, and now he was going to get it. “To...to see what would happen.” 

“And what did you think would happen?” Marius’s tone didn’t change. Grantaire flicked his eyes up as Enjolras leaned forward in his chair. 

“Punishment.” He twisted his string so hard it snapped. Marius startled at the noise. Enjolras stood. He took two steps toward the bed before he stopped himself. 

“You think we were going to - to torture you like those other people?” He spat the last word. If Grantaire hadn’t already been prone, he would’ve fallen from the sheer force of Enjolras blasting into rage.

“I don’t like yelling,” Marius said from the floor. He had let go of the bedpost to tap his fingertips together. 

“I’m sorry, Marius,” Enjolras said at a more reasonable volume. He took several deep breaths in a practiced manner. “I just - want R to feel safe here.” 

“You did yell at R the first time you met him,” Marius observed. Grantaire wanted to hide himself more completely but he couldn’t move. Was Enjolras in trouble because of him? This was even more backwards.

“He apologized,” Grantaire blurted out. He shrunk when Enjolras turned back to him. What if that was supposed to be a secret? What if Grantaire had just made him look foolish and weak? What if Marius went and blabbed to everyone and undermined Enjolras’s authority? 

“I didn’t get the chance to fully explain that I want to make amends.” 

“Would knowing the rules make you feel better, R?”

“We aren’t-” Enjolras spluttered until Grantaire drowned him out with his babbled pleadings. Thank fuck for Marius. 

“I don’t think we can make it like it was - before, for you. But we can give you routine and structure if that would help.” 

Grantaire babbled some more affirmative responses. 

“It’s alright,” Marius soothed. “We are going to go talk to Joly and will be back soon.” Enjolras didn’t exactly look like a willing participant, but he followed Marius out. 

Grantaire forced himself to sit up. He folded Enjolras’s jacket and put it to the side. He wrapped the blankets more tightly around himself. He looked down, meaning to tuck his feet underneath him. The carrots were still there. He still hadn’t been punished.

Then the panic attack hit him. He focused on keeping his hyperventilation quiet. He was good at that, especially when no one was there to add to the humiliation. 

But he was wrong. Enjolras - of course it had to be Enjolras - was there. He was saying something about breathing. Grantaire didn’t realize he had been rocking again until Enjolras put a hand on his upper back. 

“I’m sorry that took so long,” Enjolras said once Grantaire got himself back under control, which probably took twice as long as the secret conversation had. “Some decisions needed to be made.” 

“It’s not my place, sir.” That couldn’t be the right response, but at least it encompassed everything. 

Enjolras was thrown for a few seconds but then plowed forward. “We agreed it made sense for you to live in my room.” Well, that was not quite the punishment Grantaire was expecting, even if it was still objectively terrible. “I’m the only one with a room on the first floor to myself. Jehan would be more than happy to make room for you upstairs, but Combeferre and Joly agreed you’re not - ready for stairs yet.” 

Enjolras paused. “Yes, sir,” Grantaire agreed when the silence stretched on. 

Enjolras gathered himself again. “The number one priority is to get you healthy. Combeferre and Joly still want to see you here twice a day. You’ll have some sort of task to do each day.” Grantaire sagged in relief. This was a start. Yes, there were thousands of other things he had assumed would be decided for him, but now he would be able to prove his worth to Enjolras, on a daily basis no less. Yes, he would fail spectacularly most of the time, but it was an improvement from lazing around his sick bed all day. Wasting space, wasting resources, wasting everyone’s time. 

“Yes, sir,” he repeated when Enjolras didn’t rise. He regretted that it worked and Enjolras’s hand disappeared. 

“Marius and I will move your mattress. You can carry your blankets.” Grantaire was happy to have something to focus on so he couldn’t wonder why he was being allowed to keep the mattress, or the blankets, or a place to sleep inside, for that matter. Everything might have gone sideways, but he still had made Enjolras angry. He still should have been punished in a more conventional manner.

He stayed as close to Enjolras as he dared during the move. They went through the kitchen, which was warm and smelled good, and terrifying, though Grantaire didn’t allow himself to look up and see how many people were gawking at him. He didn’t allow himself to think about how there was a tiny bit of warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the fire or his fear, but with knowing everyone who did see him now also saw he had the privilege of living with Enjolras. No one else could say that. 

It seemed less of a privilege when he saw just how small Enjolras’s room was. He suspected it was a converted pantry. There was no fireplace, but when he stood out of the way against the wall shared with the kitchen, it was warm enough. He wondered if he should kneel, but he decided taking up the extra floor space wasn’t worth it, given how Enjolras didn’t seem to care about the particulars of his submission. 

Grantaire still cared, but he cared more about not getting in Enjolras’s way as he and Marius rearranged the room. He was surprised Enjolras didn’t have a proper bed, that he also just had a mattress on the floor, but he didn’t want to question it, given how the spare from the sick room would never have fit otherwise. He did want to question how he was expected to rest when he would be lying just inches from Enjolras. 

Marius departed, returned with a fresh bowl of soup for Grantaire, and then really left. “Good night, R.” 

Grantaire stood there stupidly as Enjolras took the blankets and jacket from him so he could hold his bowl properly. “Sit and eat,” Enjolras ordered, so he did. Enjolras took his bowl back to the kitchen when he finished, which was wrong and not at all in line with his new plan to prove himself. 

When he returned, Enjolras shut the door and sat on his own mattress. With the door shut, the room was only lit from the one small window high up on the wall. He knew yet again Enjolras was staring at him, but it helped not being able to see more than his general outline in the gloom. 

Enjolras sighed, and this time it was sad. “I know I said this before, but I am not going to touch you.” The tiny glow in Grantaire’s chest turned to ice. He looked down when his lips started to tremble. He would have to earn it, he coached himself, heal up until he was less revolting and work until he had proved his usefulness at something. He couldn’t secretly compliment himself on being so good at obedience while desperately longing for something utterly outside his control. 

“It has nothing to do with you,” Enjolras said, quietly, gently. “I don’t want to be with anyone like that. I can explain more if that would help, but if it won’t, I don’t want to linger on such a painful topic.” 

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire agreed quickly. He was still cold and bereft, but that was only right. 

“May I - why do you keep calling me that?” Grantaire jerked his head up. “You don’t do it all the time, but you also seem to do it just to me.” 

The horrible full body trembling returned. What was Grantaire to say? He could lie, say he was breaking the rules just to break them, again, but then Enjolras might send him away, or would do so in the future when he discovered that was a lie. Even if Grantaire deserved it, he couldn’t bear it, not at that moment. “It...it makes me feel good, sir.” 

Enjolras stood up, and Grantaire waited to be beaten or thrown out or given to someone who did want him that way. He flinched when Enjolras touched him, but then looked down in wonder as Enjolras took his jacket from on top the blankets and draped it around his shoulders. 

Grantaire shuddered. Once again he was enveloped in Enjolras’s scent. Once again he was warm. And, most importantly, everyone would now be able to see he was Enjolras’s. Even when he left the room, or when they were apart, there would be no doubt. He looked up at Enjolras’s face, though he couldn’t read his expression in the dark. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they were roommates!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All typos are the fault of my phone’s autocorrect changing actual words to nonsense.

Grantaire was never ever ever going to wish for anything again. He wanted more Enjolras, and fuck if he hadn’t gotten it. 

Enjolras was turned towards him, breathing slow and even, hair tousled, face relaxed. At peace.

His room was dim in the dawn light. It was warm and close from their body heat. It was even warmer and closer in Grantaire’s blanket cocoon, which also hid his hands as he stroked Enjolras’s jacket. 

And all Grantaire could do was fantasize about reaching out to touch him, to pet his cheek, to tuck his blanket back in around shoulders, to push a wave of hair behind his ear. 

Grantaire was disgusting. 

He knew it long before anyone had told him, reminded him really, and he hadn’t forgotten. Enjolras was only letting him stay here out of some need to perform penance for failing to live up to his own ideals. And because the only other person who wanted him lived upstairs, where Grantaire was too weak and pathetic to climb.

No, not “only other”, just “only”, but Grantaire still couldn’t get it through his head that Enjolras did not want him. All this mooning about would have been bad enough before, a perfect and easy way for more humiliation to be heaped upon him as he was used. 

But - he was going to be used either way. And now Enjolras would just be angry, again. Grantaire should be much more worried about losing his blankets or clothes or food or rest, but he had practice with that kind of pain. Not with seeing the disappointment in Enjolras’s eyes. 

He should stop staring. He would only make this so much worse. But what did that matter, as miserable as he already was? And it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. 

So he didn’t turn away, didn’t hide his face, didn’t close his eyes to feign sleep when Enjolras stirred. Better that he understand right away. 

Grantaire could live forever on the moment their eyes met, Enjolras still soft and drowsy. 

“Good morning, R.”

Or not at all. 

“Good morning,” he whispered in reply, which was lost in Enjolras’s shuffling as he got up. After he stretched, revealing enough abdomen that Grantaire almost had a nosebleed, he made up his bed and turned to the door. 

“Let’s go eat.”

Grantaire didn’t need to be told twice, almost falling on the floor in his haste to obey. And he was not going to read anything into the “let’s”. He would not expect to be fed, not after such a comfortable night. He would not expect to get another moment of Enjolras’s time or attention. 

“R,” Enjolras choked out. 

Fuck, he had literally just gotten up and was already failing. If he were going to get attention, this was not the kind he wanted. He dropped to his knees to make his own bed. 

Hot shame coursed through him. He should’ve insisted on making Enjolras’s, should’ve had breakfast waiting for him, should’ve done literally anything besides lay in his own bed like a useless lump. 

And now Enjolras was so furious, so disappointed, that he was upset. Grantaire ground his nails into the back of one hand. He made himself look up. Enjolras was pointedly staring off into a corner. His gaze only went to Grantaire for an instant. 

“No, R, I meant….” He waved his hand at Grantaire in a way that conveyed absolutely nothing. “If you - you can have some alone time and eat later, if that’s what you - what you need.” 

Grantaire frowned. What sort of test was this? Enjolras gave the impression he wanted Grantaire to pass but also couldn’t stand the sight of him? Grantaire looked down at himself. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Back to his knees for this, and hands behind his back for good measure. “No, sir, please, I know better, I promise. I didn’t - I would never - not without permission.”

“R, it’s - you don’t need permission. I can just - I’ll step out.” 

How had this spiraled so very quickly out of Grantaire’s control? He pinched his hand again, harder. “Sir, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even notice. Please, I swear. I would’ve - would’ve taken care of it, not like that, in an acceptable way, I mean, I promise that’s what I mean.” This succeeded in getting Enjolras to look half at the corner, half at him. He was on the right track. He could do this. He bowed his head and shrunk down to the floor. 

“I’m sorry.” He paused to hiccup, hoped Enjolras could tell it was genuine. “I’ve already shown you I can’t be trusted.” He shuffled forward. “Please, please make it not happen again. Or I can do it and you can check. Or-”

“R,” said Enjolras, so firmly Grantaire stopped babbling immediately. He wanted to move his hands, tuck them around himself for protection, but he was good. “R,” Enjolras repeated and then stopped again. Grantaire stared at the floor, didn’t move, didn’t make a single sound. “R, I am not going to control your body that way. If you need to - take care of yourself, you have my permission. As long as you do it somewhere private.” 

Grantaire swallowed. Hot tears gathered in his eyes. “Sir, I know I was bad, so bad, but I promise I can be better.” He gouged at his hand, reveling in the pain of torn skin. 

“Can you - see the rules are different here?” Enjolras asked finally, after Grantaire’s hand ran with rivulets of blood.

“Yes, sir, please, teach me. I want to obey. I can be good, I can be so much better than I have been. I promise.” 

“Hush.” Grantaire obeyed. “Can you understand then, if I give you a rule that you’re allowed to relieve yourself, privately, whenever you want, that you need to follow it?” 

Grantaire shrank even further. Touch himself whenever he wanted? In privacy? With no humiliation? “I will try, sir. But I know I will need help learning.” He flinched at his own admission. No wonder he inspired so much disappointment. This was the first real rule Enjolras had given him, and he had immediately said he couldn’t do it.

“I want you to come to me then, if you need to. Do you want me to leave now?” 

“No, sir.” Grantaire hoped that would suffice, that Enjolras wouldn’t force him to explain that even though he was still hard, it was from kneeling for Enjolras and begging Enjolras and groveling at Enjolras’s feet and getting permission from Enjolras to come, all in the warm dark of Enjolras’s room, and not because he really wanted an orgasm at that moment. 

“I’m glad you told me.” Grantaire sagged. He gasped from - some sort of feeling when Enjolras lifted him gently up by his shoulder and wrapped a blanket around him. His hands remained a moment, and Grantaire closed eyes, and barely kept himself from humming. “You are allowed privacy.” Grantaire didn’t let himself linger in the glow and had the blanket halfway around him before he stopped himself. “What is it?”

Grantaire should just take off Enjolras’s jacket, should offer it as a token of his obedience and gratitude, but all he could manage was to pluck at the buttons. Nothing came out when he opened his mouth. 

“No, R, you can keep the jacket. For today, at least. Joly might - what happened to your hand?”

Before Grantaire could even think of explaining, Enjolras took his torn hand in both of his. This time he did hum, the pleasure of the gentle touch and the pain of the pressure and the ecstasy that it was Enjolras giving him both. “Did you - you did this while we were talking?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Enjolras sighed and let go. “I want Joly to take clean this before you eat.” 

“Yes, sir.” Grantaire swallowed and burrowed into his blanket. More hot shame, this time in his stomach. He couldn’t fathom what he failed at this time. 

“I’ll have Marius go with you.” Grantaire blinked hard. 

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew Enjolras had much better things to do.

He stumbled out after Enjolras, with one glance at his bed. If only he could lie back down and start the day all over, fail just a little bit less. Tomorrow, he promised himself, tomorrow he would prove his value. 

He glanced up when he entered the kitchen. It was crowded, and everyone seemed fixed on their own business in a studied way. They were almost as good as he was, when he was pretending the evidence of some crime wasn’t his. How loud had he been? Enjolras must be so embarrassed for everyone to know how ungrateful Grantaire was. 

“Marius,” Enjolras called to where he was sitting practically on top of Cosette at the table, “please take Grantaire to see Joly.” 

Marius beamed at Cosette before standing up. Grantaire shuffled behind him to the front room. 

He whimpered involuntarily when he entered. He couldn’t stand the thought of Enjolras sending him back. He had to be better. No, he needed to be his best. Unfortunately, that didn’t amount to much, but he had to try.

Marius sat in the chair. Grantaire found a spot on the floor by the foot of the bed. He wrapped his arms around his knees. 

“Enjolras isn’t mad at you,” said Marius softly. Grantaire twitched. “He would never be mad at anyone for behaving awkwardly. Trust me.” Grantaire pushed his face into his arms. Tears pricked his eyes again. How miserably pathetic. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it. 

“He didn’t yell,” he forced out when he trusted his voice. It still trembled. 

“Enjolras yells for many reasons, much to my dismay, but also trust me that none of them are true anger. When he is actually angry, you’ll know. Even I know. Well, that’s probably because I’ve just memorized his cues, which are nothing, but still.” Marius stopped abruptly and watched Grantaire in silence for awhile. “Do you want to be able to spend more time with him?”

What a stupid fucking question. Grantaire would beg Joly to just cut his entire hand off for a single moment of Enjolras’s attention. “Yes, please,” he whispered. 

“I’ll talk to Joly and Combeferre later. I think they’ll want you to stay behind when it’s shearing time to rest, but Enjolras will intervene if you’d prefer to go with him. I can find something light for you to do.” 

Grantaire nodded frantically. How long would Enjolras be gone? How far away would he be? He knew he didn’t just stay at home, but he didn’t want to contemplate a separation. “I could - I can pass a test. If that would help.” Yes, he wanted to be allowed to follow Enjolras around like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t want anyone, especially Enjolras, getting in trouble on his behalf for that privilege. 

“That’s a good idea. Joly will feel much better if he can see how much stronger you’ve gotten.” 

“Thank you.” Grantaire shuddered. At long last something made sense. “I - I just want - to please him. I want him to think that...that I can contribute something.”

“I understand,” Marius agreed. He paused and then added, “I’m sure Enjolras would say your presence is contribution enough if you asked outright. I can, if you want.” 

Grantaire wanted to say yes, to scream no, when Joly came in to examine him and clean his hand. He imagined the sting of the alcohol on the torn flesh was Enjolras’s punishment, was Enjolras’s desire. It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess my not-so-secret bulletproof (romantic) kink is clothes sharing and I’m not even ashamed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm...can we all just pretend the godawful original chapter seven I wrote in a panic after not having updated in so long just...didn't happen? XD
> 
> This one is basically completely different!

“R, can you please sit up on the bed for me?” Grantaire flinched, moved his head enough to see Joly’s feet and cane in front of him, and then scrambled to obey. He braced himself for the impending blows. Enjolras wanted Joly to treat him, and now Grantaire appeared to be defying him, so not only would Joly be right to punish him, that was what Enjolras would want. It made perfect sense. 

“R, Joly needs to see your hand. It is going to sting,” Marius said from where he sat at the table.

Grantaire peeked up again. Joly was standing far enough away he would only be able to reach Grantaire’s hand if Grantaire held it out for him. He had watched Marius clean his own hand, so the pain must be bearable. But it also must be a lie, somehow. It didn’t matter. Enjolras had sent him here, and Grantaire was going to take whatever was given. He had dawdled far too long already to be considered remotely good. He just couldn’t stop failing. 

He started to extend his hand and then froze. Maybe this damage he could repair, or at least keep private. “Should I - do you want me to - to react?” 

There was a pause before Joly asked, “If it hurts, do you mean?” 

Grantaire nodded twice. 

“R,” Joly said very, very carefully, so Grantaire sat up a little to pay better attention, “it’s your body, your experience. I don’t want to say I don’t care, because if there were a way to do this without causing you any pain, I would. It’s my medical opinion that the benefit of sterilizing your hand far outweighs the cost of any pain you will feel, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still pain. All I ask is that you do whatever makes you most comfortable.” 

Grantaire shifted. He balled the end of the jacket sleeve around his uninjured hand. Was this the trick? “What does Enjolras want?” 

“R, I’m sure he agrees with me.”

Grantaire pulled his bloody hand back to his lap and curled around it. “But what if he doesn’t?” His voice was a whine in his ears, and Joly was probably livid, and he should just do as he was told, but he couldn’t risk making things worse. He just couldn’t. He should stand, go find Enjolras and ask him himself, beg him to come with to witness his obedience in case Joly tried to lie, demonstrate how desperately he wanted to be good. 

Before he could act, Marius stood. “Let me go ask him.” 

Even with no fire in the grate and Joly suddenly busy doing doctor things, the room felt hot and oppressive. Grantaire’s hand throbbed, but even when he poked at it afresh, there was no relief. There was even less when Enjolras appeared. Joly withdrew to the hall with Marius. Grantaire thought he might suffocate. 

“First of all, R, I’m not angry with you.” Grantaire curled up a little more because Enjolras still sounded pretty angry. “I just want to have a discussion. Apparently I erred in assuming you understood why I sent you to Joly.” 

There was a silence, and Grantaire finally decided he was supposed to answer, even though Enjolras hadn’t technically asked a question. “To have my hand cleaned, sir.” 

“Good.” Grantaire thought he was going to suffocate again, this time from ecstasy. He felt his cock stir and was grateful he was folded over. He couldn’t even feel ashamed. Enjolras was giving him his full attention, in all its intensity, and praising him. “But do you understand why I want that?”

There was actually a right answer, Grantaire could tell, and he absolutely could not fuck this up. If not truly angry, Enjolras was in a passionate fervor over the whole thing, and he thought Grantaire was good. It almost felt like Enjolras cared about him, but that couldn’t be it. “Because I’m valuable, sir?” 

He cringed when he sensed Enjolras move, because how could he have thought that was right, and now Enjolras was going to come throw him down and hurt him a lot more than Joly would have, and maybe that would teach Grantaire a lesson or two about how truly worthless he was, and-

“R, can you take some deep breaths with me?” Enjolras was so close now, right next to him on the bed. “R, breathe in sync with me.” That was an order, and however uselss Grantaire was, he could at least prove he was capable of following simple orders. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but suddenly the room wasn’t so close and he realized he wasn’t actually dying. He might want to when Enjolras was through with him, but in another way, one he was comfortably familiar with. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispered when he had gathered enough strength. 

“R, there is nothing to be sorry for,” said Enjolras in that angry-except-not tone. “I understand.” He paused, wondering, before asking, “Is there anything that helps you ground yourself afterwards?”

Grantaire shrank in on himself. His head hurt and his eyes burned. Why couldn’t he do a single thing right? “Could you punish me now, sir, please? I know I don’t deserve - or could you at least tell me what will happen, or when? Either one, if both is too much to ask, I know it is, I wouldn’t have said anything, sir, but you asked-”

Enjolras stood, towering over Grantaire. “I am not going to punish you for having a panic attack.” He took three deep breaths and stepped back out of Grantaire’s immediate personal space. “There will never be any punishment here. Not for that.”

“Sorry, sir,” Grantaire repeated stupidly. Enjolras didn’t stop staring at him. He started to tremble. Why couldn’t he do one single, solitary thing right? “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t trying to suggest what you should do with me. To me.”

Enjolras sighed again, soft and long. “R, can you articulate for me something that you want? Not something you think you should want, or something you think I want to hear. Something that you actually want of your own accord.” 

Grantaire swallowed. This he could answer. “To please you, sir.” Enjolras’s frown intensified. Fuck. How flippant did he sound now, on top of everything else? “I am telling the truth, sir. I don’t think that was what you wanted to hear at all.” His stomach dropped in the beat of silence that followed, and then it was flip-flopping all over the place because Enjolras laughed. 

It wasn’t mean, wasn’t cruel, wasn’t harsh, wasn’t meant to hurt or humiliate. It was surprised, and it was genuine. 

“No, I have to admit that answer troubles me. I don’t doubt it’s the truth.” 

Grantaire was simultaneously ecstatic and mortified. He swallowed again. If he were wise, he’d just stop now. “Can I - but I don’t understand, sir.”

“You don’t understand why I’m troubled you want to please me?”

“I - no, sir. I’m sorry.” Grantaire shrank back down. He should really just stay like that all the time. “I thought you were in charge, of everything. Of me.”

“First of all, I wouldn’t say I was in charge,” started Enjolras, even more passionate than earlier, “but - but that’s not what this is about.” He took more deep breaths. “It...deeply concerns me that you’re finally getting enough to eat and have a warm place to sleep, after what seems to have been a very long time, and the one thing you’re sure of is wanting to please me. I think we’re beyond the perfect stranger stage at this point, but you hardly know anything about me.”

“I know you’re in charge.” Enjolras sighed and held his face still through sheer force of will. Even if Grantaire were punished for insolence, it was almost worth it, this time. The feeling was a bit addictive. “I know I caused you some sort of existential crisis because you were ready to throw me out to protect everyone here, without a shred of guilt.”

“I apologized,” Enjolras snapped hotly.

“I never said you needed to.” The tiny flame that had sparked within Grantaire at Enjolras’s laugh suddenly extinguished. Just like he had literally just said, Enjolras was in charge, Enjolras had no qualms about hurting or even killing him, given the appropriate circumstances. And here was Grantaire, mouthing off like he’d never been taught a lesson in his life. He shrank down and then went to his knees. If Enjolras wasn’t going to remind Grantaire of his place, Grantaire would have to do it himself. “Sir. Sir, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry-”

“R, I never said you had to apologize either.” Grantaire jerked his head up at this and would’ve collapsed if he hadn’t already been on the floor from the way Enjolras was frowning in anger but somehow smiling just the tiniest bit, through his intense blue eyes. The ache in his chest eased, just the smallest bit.

“But this isn’t about - let me tell you what’s going to happen now. I’m going to go get Joly to clean your hand and then I’ll take you to go eat something, and then Cosette will give you a couple chores to do. Then I want you to lie down and rest, or sleep, or - whatever you need.” 

Grantaire was back on the way to being half-hard, under all that focused Enjolras scrutiny, and so wrung out from...everything. “Just so I understand, sir, I can - I can take a nap and….” He trailed off. 

Enjolras had schooled his face into a more neutral expression. “Yes, you can do whatever would make you feel good. I’ll be gone most of the day collecting kindling, so I won’t - no one will disturb you. If you were worried about that.” 

And then, just like Enjolras had decreed, he brought Joly back. After the huge scene Grantaire had made, he barely felt the bite of the alcohol on his hand as Joly cleaned and bandaged it. Shame and relief warred within him - shame that Enjolras was standing very close and supervising, relief that there was no price to pay for that intimacy and comfort. 

He stroked the bandage as Enjolras led him back to the kitchen. Cosette put a plate of eggs and peaches in front of him. Enjolras sat down in front of a half-finished plate, across from Grantaire, and their knees were just inches apart. Their feet almost brushed when Enjolras had finished and moved to stand, and Grantaire felt a bit hot realizing Enjolras had proper boots and he still only had his socks. This probably was part of the reason Enjolras felt so uncomfortable around him. Enjolras gave no sign of getting off on Grantaire’s servitude, and what a stark reminder this contrast was. Grantaire couldn’t just walk outside on his own, not at least without contemplating ruining his socks and then tearing up his feet. 

Enjolras turned to say goodbye to Marius and Cosette, but they were very close and quiet across the room, so he turned to Grantaire. “Goodbye, R, I’ll see you at dinner.” And this made Grantaire even hotter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Senior management went on a retreat at a fancy lodge...I had a writing retreat at my desk. 
> 
> Pretty sure I accomplished more.

Enjolras had left five minutes ago, and Grantaire was already a panicked mess. He didn’t dawdle over his breakfast but it still took what felt like forever to eat all that food. Too late did he consider perhaps it was trap, that it was so obviously extravagant it couldn’t all be meant for him, and it didn’t matter that Enjolras hadn’t said anything because even he hadn’t expected Grantaire to be so stupid. Or maybe it all really was for him, just not meant as one meal. That would be good. No doubt someone would mock him for not being able to stand rationing his food out, but that was much better than being punished. And he had plenty of practice being hungry.

Less practice at disappointing Enjolras. Which he was already doing since he was supposed to be working and was still just sitting on his ass. But he couldn’t find the strength to move. He should clear the table, that was a task simple enough even for him, and he could see a large basin that was probably used for washing, but Marius and Cosette were right next to it, and he couldn’t interrupt or bother or disturb them. They would send him somewhere where he couldn’t bother anyone, probably wherever Combeferre had returned from that one night, and how long would it be until he saw Enjolras again?

He shivered and hugged Enjolras’s jacket more tightly around himself. 

No, better to sit quietly and wait for orders, even at the risk of being hurt for his laziness. He could work so hard the rest of the day, skip the nap he had been granted permission to take, to prove he wasn’t useless. He would make it up before Enjolras returned. 

And luckily one of the few other things he had a lot of practice at was sitting quietly and hoping no one noticed him. He ached all over as he tried not to think about some other things he practiced even more. 

“Hey, R,” Cosette said softly as she sat further down the bench, out of reach. “We didn’t realize Enjolras had left. We didn’t mean to leave you so distressed.” Grantaire shrank down further and said nothing. “Tell you what, I’m going to clean up from breakfast, and you can start chopping things for lunch. You can take a rest then, but if you want to sooner, that’s more than fine.”

Grantaire nodded vigorously. He understood. If he could make it through lunch duty without complaining of fatigue, Cosette would tell Enjolras he had been good and obedient. 

Marius said, “R, I want to make sure you understand. It’s your choice whether you want to nap or lie down or just be alone for awhile, and everyone wants you to remember that, but it’s not a trick. No one wants to secretly test your stamina. Maybe that was a poor choice of words, I only meant-”

“Marius,” Cosette said almost as softly as she had addressed Grantaire. 

“Right, as I was saying, there isn’t a hidden meaning, or a test, or anything like that. We just want you to have the freedom of choice.” Grantaire looked up through his eyelashes. Marius and Cosette were looking at him directly, plainly, like they really meant what Marius said. 

“I want to work,” he whispered. 

“And that’s fine, too,” Cosette said. 

Marius kissed the top of her head and left. Grantaire wondered what it would feel like if Enjolras kissed the top of his head. Transcendent, no doubt, at least for him. Probably somewhere between off-putting and disgusting for Enjolras. 

“Can I wash? Please?” he blurted out. He flinched, though no blow or laughter came. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - I know I shouldn’t even ask, not when you’ve already given me so much, but-” He had to save himself somehow, before he ruined the day all over again. “But now that I’m - that Enjolras is letting me stay in his room, I don’t want to be - I don’t want to be...noisome.” He had wanted to say unclean, but he was permanently filthy.

“Of course, R. I’m really proud of you for asking for something you wanted. How about we revisit this after you rest? We have an outdoor shower you can use, I just want to make sure you have the energy for it.”

“Yes, thank you, thank you.” Grantaire almost slid to his knees, but Cosette had wanted help with lunch, and she probably didn’t want him preparing food on the floor. 

She bustled away and set Grantaire up at the table with a long flat stone, a bucket of potatoes, a large pot, and a knife. He put his hands under his thighs. “R, do you feel comfortable cutting up those potatoes for me?” He nodded and rolled up the sleeves of Enjolras’s jacket to his elbows but didn’t pick up the knife. “You can use the knife. If you could do small chunks, that would be wonderful.” And with that, like it was no big deal for Grantaire to have a potential weapon in hand with minimal supervision, she carried over the basin and began to wash the breakfast dishes. There were a few scraps left that she set aside, and Grantaire hoped, stupidly, that they might be for him, but she took them outside in her cupped hands. 

He didn’t start working until she returned, waited for her to search him or count the potatoes or slap him as a reminder to behave, but she only started singing to herself as she dried and put away the dishes. When that was done, she began to haul water in from somewhere outside. She stoked the fire in the stove and set the water to boiling, two pots at a time. Once purified, all of it went into a barrel by the door. 

Grantaire took up the knife and started chopping as he observed the kitchen routine. If he was made to work here alone, he wanted to be prepared. He set what tiny scraps he made, along with any discolored or suspicious chunks he cut away, into his own little pile, far enough away to hopefully show he had no intention of eating them. He sat quietly when he finished, hands trembling a little with fatigue. 

“Thank you very much, R,” Cosette said when she noticed. She picked up the pot of potatoes but didn’t leave. 

“Can - may I rest now, please?” He took a deep breath. Marius had said there was no trick, that Grantaire was meant to decide for himself. He was sick to his stomach, but things were different here. Enjolras was ultimately in charge here. “I’m tired.” 

“I’m really proud of you for telling me, R. Let me put the sign up so no one bothers you.” She dug around in a cabinet and eventually pulled out a wooden sign with “Do Not Disturb” painted on in white letters. She smiled conspiratorially at Grantaire. “Enjolras doesn’t know about this because he thinks he always has to be ‘available,’ but Combeferre talked Feuilly into making it so everyone would know to be a little quieter in the kitchen to let him get some actual sleep.” 

“Why is his room down here?” Grantaire asked. He blanched. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to question or backtalk, I know it’s not my place-”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, R. There weren’t enough actual bedrooms for everyone when we found this place, so we had to convert some rooms. It would’ve made the most sense for Enjolras to share the attic with Jehan - it’d be hard for him to stand up, but there is plenty of space, and neither of them are partnered up. I guess Bahorel and Feuilly could’ve made room for him, but I think they wanted their privacy, though their relationship is platonic. And Eponine only is here...when she wants to be. I’m not really sure where she sleeps. 

“But to answer your original question, I think a lot of it has to do with Enjolras needing to feel available at all times he’s home, like I said.” She looked around and whispered, “Plus I think he secretly loves the martyrdom of having such an undesirable living space. But we don’t tell him we know about that either.”

Grantaire laughed, despite himself. A patch of warmth bloomed in his chest. Enjolras didn’t have a partner, which Grantaire of course couldn’t be, but he also had no one to look after him, and he didn’t look after himself either, and that was something Grantaire could handle. Wanted to handle. Very desperately. “Thank you,” he said again and hoped Cosette understood it was for more than just the nap. 

“Of course, R. I’m happy to answer any questions you have. I know this is probably a shock for you, and I know how overwhelming we can all be together. No one wanted to overload you with details at first, but ours lives aren’t a secret.” 

Grantaire hesitated. How long would it be until someone else gave him permission to ask whatever questions he wanted? “Are - are you all together from before? Not - not just as friends, I mean. Sorry. If that’s alright to ask.” 

“That’s more than alright, R. Marius and I were the only ones who were married before. Combeferre and Courfeyrac decided to get married last summer. Musichetta and Joly and Bossuet got married not long after we found this place.” 

“But - how, afterwards, can you be….”

Cosette laughed, musically. “Oh, if you need conversation starters with Enjolras, you can ask him about that. He can’t decide if it’s great the political institution of marriage is dead, or that it’s bad there’s not some great collective to declare marriage equality for everyone in some official capacity, or that one of the best things about anarchy is anyone can say they’re married to anyone else by their own choice.” She winked. “Just be sure to report back which is. Courf likes to keep track.” 

Grantaire snorted, despite himself, and Cosette laughed again. “Have a good rest, R.”

Grantaire went into Enjolras’s room, and Cosette shut the door behind him. He flinched but there was no sound of a lock, or of anything being pushed against the door. He looked down at his socks, at his trembling hands, and flushed. 

He lowered himself gingerly to his assigned mattress. He rolled the sleeves of Enjolras’s jacket back down and flicked his wrists to flop the ends over his hands. He buried his nose in the collar, drinking in the scent. A terrible idea seized him. 

No one was going to come in. No one would know. He could sleep in Enjolras’s bed, and no one would know. He still wanted to wash, but Joly and Combeferre has kept him clean enough as to not be objectionable. He could remake the bed and rumple the one he was supposed to have used. Marius said he was supposed to choose what he wanted. It wasn’t really an order, but nearly as close he got here, and Marius had been the one to save him, and all that must count for something. 

He swallowed again and again. Suddenly, in one movement, he slid over to Enjolras’s bed. There was no lingering body heat, but the room was warm enough to pretend. After several long minutes, when absolutely nothing continued to happen, he allowed himself to lay down and turn his head into Enjolras’s pillow. The smell was intoxicating, like the jacket, but a million times better. Before he could lose his nerve, he pulled the blankets up and over his head, and it was pure bliss inside his dark, warm Enjolras cocoon. 

There was no way he could plead his way out of punishment if he were caught, there would be no more warmth and no more safety and probably no more Enjolras, at least not for a very, very, very long time, and he was still exhausted and tender and achy from head to toe, but, at this moment, that all felt bearable.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made these [words].

Grantaire sat up with a start. 

Voices were coming from the kitchen. He didn’t think he heard Enjolras’s among them. But that didn’t mean no one would come in. True, this was Enjolras’s room, but that wouldn’t matter as much if the only occupant was Grantaire. And Enjolras had sent him to rest, not to be kept in isolation.. 

Mingled with the voices were footsteps. Grantaire couldn’t move. At any moment they were going to come up to the door, someone was going to come in, going to see him being lazy, going to see him in Enjolras’s bed,. But maybe he shouldn’t move. Certainly no one would take him on Enjolras’s bed, would never invade his privacy like that. But there were no certainties. Because someone could come in, could leave Grantaire sweating and leaking all over Enjolras’s linens, could send him out in the cold to scrub them until his hands cracked and bled, could watch him squirm as he awaited Enjolras’s inspection. And he would be the one entirely at fault, he knew. Everyone would know. 

And if he just moved when he first woke, he would be done hiding all the evidence of his crime by now, would not have been caught because no one had yet to find him. 

He stood up in one motion, and then dropped to his knees as his head spun. When he had blinked enough of the black spots away, he fumbled and made Enjolras’s bed as best he could. Was it as precise as Enjolras had done it himself? He couldn’t even remember what it looked like. He would pray it would be dark enough when Enjolras went to bed that he couldn’t really see, or that he would be too tired to really care. His stomach clenched when he realized how utterly fucked he was if Enjolras had foreseen this and put a hair on his pillow in a certain spot or folded a corner of his blanket a certain way, because Grantaire had been too intoxicated to pay attention to any of that. 

He wavered over his own bed. No, Enjolras wanted his room kept neatly, so rumpling the other bed would be too obvious of a cover, would only lead to questions, and probably to punishment. That wasn’t the worst idea, but that was assuming he got slapped a few times for being ungrateful and not...something else, when the whole charade came out. 

He stood again and waited until he felt steady. He crept to the door, stupidly put his ear to it so briefly he couldn’t hear anything useful but could’ve been caught for eavesdropping, and then slipped out. He shut the door quietly behind him. 

His head swam again as he saw Enjolras was in the kitchen after all. He knew rationally Enjolras couldn’t know, not yet, but still Grantaire waited for a sign that Enjolras did anyway. But Enjolras didn’t even deign to notice him. He sat next to Courfeyrac and across from Marius, all three bent around Marius’s notebook. 

Grantaire looked around the rest of the kitchen. Two pots were simmering on the stove, but no one watched them. He began to tremble uncontrollably. 

He knew what he would’ve done before. He would’ve grabbed the wooden spoon from the counter and eaten as quickly as he could right from the pot. He would’ve prayed whoever eventually caught him didn’t force him to throw it all back up. Punishment of some sort would follow, but there was always punishment. And there was always hunger. 

There was still hunger now, but less urgent, less primal. Instead there was the compelling need to go sit at Enjolras’s feet, make him feel so good he would pay just as much attention to Grantaire as he was currently paying to whatever Marius was saying. Grantaire looked down. Enjolras had told him explicitly, more than once, that he did not want that, and here Grantaire could still think of nothing else. 

He needed to be better. He would be good and quiet and wait for someone to come give him orders. If Cosette came or Marius finished his business, he would get on his knees and remind them he had been promised a shower. 

And if he continued to watch Enjolras while he waited, surely there was no real harm in that? He could say he was waiting for orders specifically from Enjolras but had known it was not his place to interrupt. He would probably be mocked, but he was used to that, and it wouldn’t hurt. He lowered himself to his knees and immediately relaxed. 

But it was harder than he thought, waiting with no idea of what to actually expect, no idea when he would be noticed. After what felt like hours in his mind but was more like thirty minutes according to his knees, he entertained the notion of standing up and announcing he had slept in Enjolras’s bed. Then Enjolras would have no choice but to pay attention to him, Courfeyrac and Marius would have no choice but to witness Grantaire getting all that attention. None of that would be worth being banished from Enjolras’s presence, even if only temporarily, but he couldn’t stop himself from shuffling over to the table. 

Courfeyrac did a double take when Grantaire drew close. “R, we didn’t need to know you were up!” Grantaire put his hands down where he guessed his head would otherwise knock directly against the floor when Courfeyrac reached down towards him, but all he did was gently grab Grantaire under the arms and lift him as he stood himself. 

“I hope we didn’t wake you! We tried our best to be quiet, but you know….” He looked meaningfully at Enjolras and then the bedroom door, and Grantaire’s heart stopped. “We had to make you-know-what disappear,” he whispered and then twirled Grantaire around into his vacated seat. “Let me get you something to eat. Ferre said we should if you felt up to it.”

Grantaire’s head swam again. Courfeyrac had put him down so that his arm was touching Enjolras’s. When he bustled back over and put a plate in Grantaire’s hands, he nudged Grantaire a touch further so that his hip was also touching Enjolras’s. 

“Courf, you didn’t actually ask R if he felt up to it.” 

Courfeyrac ceased to move for several seconds. “I’m sorry, R, Marius is right, as always.” Enjolras shifted a minute amount, not really away from Grantaire, and not so much anyone else would notice. “Let’s start over from the beginning.” He pulled Grantaire up again but didn’t make any attempt to take the plate away. 

“R, do you feel like you could eat a bit? I can always get you something else.” 

Grantaire‘s fingers ached as he clutched the plate. He ignored the instinct to shovel in the food as fast as he could, permission be damned. He looked sideways at Enjolras, who stared straight into Grantaire’s soul for practically forever before he gave the smallest of nods. “Yes. Thank you, sir.” 

He sat back down, a little further away, so he and Enjolras weren’t quite touching this time. He deserved quite the reward for his self-control. He focused on his food, his second meal of the day, which felt like reward enough. He tore the bread into tiny bits and soaked each one in syrup. He must have made quite the face despite himself because Marius explained, “It took a couple tries, but Jehan is an expert at making maple syrup.” Grantaire froze, waited for a leering comment to follow, but none did. There was a little bit of syrup on his fingers when he managed to finish it all, but he didn’t dare lick it off. 

Jehan themselves had silently appeared while Grantaire was engrossed in his meal, and they passed him a rag when they noticed him sitting there with his hands upturned. “Cosette said you wanted a shower?” they prompted quietly. Courfeyrac paused mid-sentence. Grantaire clutched at the rag, each second of no response from Enjolras pure agony. He had been planning to say Cosette had said he could have a shower, and now Enjolras would know she had said that because he had asked himself. There was no conceivable way he wouldn’t be hurt for being ungrateful now - either because he had dared to ask for more when he already had so much or because he was about to try to turn down something nice he’d already been promised. 

“And Ferre said it was alright?” Courfeyrac asked in a tone that strongly suggested Combeferre would say it was not alright. Grantaire felt hot pricking at the corners of his eyes. He had thought Combeferre found bathing him an imposition, or at least an inconvenience, but Grantaire hadn’t exactly paid close attention. To be stripped and slowly bathed inch by excruciating inch again, he couldn’t bear it -

“Yes, he and Cosette discussed it. I’ll be right outside if R needs anything.” 

Grantaire whimpered in relief. He flushed when he sensed Enjolras turn his head to look at him. “You should go before it gets dark.” Grantaire almost overturned the bench in his haste to scramble to the floor. 

“Thank you, sir-” he began but was cut off when Jehan lifted him to his feet the same way Courfeyrac had. They draped a towel around his neck that was so soft and warm that Grantaire would’ve gladly used it for a blanket. He followed them to the door and then stopped, looking down at his socks. He went to remove them, but Jehan shook their head. 

“Feuilly is going to make you your own boots, but until then, you can use these.” They pointed to an absolutely ancient pair of rain boots out on the back step. They were far too large for Grantaire, but he only noticed because it took so much concentration to walk in them. The rest of his brain was busy processing the idea of having his own boots, made especially for him, for no reason. He wondered why they would trust him when one of the few things they knew about him was that he had run away, but they also must know how much he needed Enjolras. 

They had only walked about thirty yards when Jehan stopped in front of a small stone structure, with a cloth door that was pinned open. There was a small space at the front with a sturdy wood trunk on a shelf and a stone bench. Behind it was a larger space with a plastic bucket suspended in the air, with a rope dangling down. 

“Everything you need is inside. You can take a washcloth from the box and any of the soaps you want, and just put everything back when you’re done so it’s not left out in the elements. I don’t think anyone else will shower today, so use as much of the water as you like. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.” And with that, they sat down on the step like taking private showers was something Grantaire did all the time. He didn’t even get shared showers that often. 

Jehan began to hum and pluck blades of grass. 

Grantaire went in and unpinned the door before he could dither further. The sun was already behind the trees, and he didn’t know how long he had until Enjolras’s deadline. As desperate as he was for attention, he didn’t really want to be hauled out into the cold and dark, naked and soaking wet. 

He finagled his way out of his boots on the mat just inside, and hung Enjolras’s jacket from a peg above it. Then he did as Jehan bade and opened the trunk, taking the washcloth on top of a stack and a bar of soap and a repurposed bottle he hoped was shampoo. He undressed, glancing at the door after every piece of clothing he shed. He unwrapped the dressing from his hand and put it on top of his clothes. Jehan was still humming.

Then came the most glorious shower he had ever taken in his entire life. When he released a small stream of water down on his head, he shivered from the pleasure of finding it lukewarm. He stood there, soaking it in, for as long as he could stand it before the chill crept in, and then did it one more time. 

He washed his hair first and shivered again as he scrubbed at his scalp. He felt a thousand times cleaner just from that. Maybe if he actually started behaving once in awhile, he could ask to wash his hair, even if he didn’t deserve a full shower. 

He put his hand against the wall and paused for breath. And to put off the inevitable. 

When the chill was too much again, he soaped his washcloth and began. He did his hole first, biting his lip so that no more than a few whines escaped. He didn’t know how he would submit when someone went even just to touch him there, let alone use him completely, even if it were Enjolras. He was glad there was no way to see. He swayed for a moment when he remembered Enjolras had seen, he had shown Enjolras of his own free will. He did the rest of his junk while that revulsion was still fresh, far too fresh to even think of getting hard. This was already such a treat he couldn’t imagine Enjolras’s permission to get himself off could apply in this private space too. 

The worst was over, and the rest wasn’t as bad as he feared. He was still littered in bruises, but almost none hurt to the touch. Several chronically inflamed weals on his thighs were reduced in size and redness, and two spots on his lower back that had oozed for as long as he could remember were scabbed over. It seemed like all the pain he had been suffering of late was buried in muscle and bone. 

Just like his filth, he reminded himself, so it was impossible he could ever be clean enough to deserve Enjolras. That sapped most of the joy from his final rinse. 

He needed to rest again after putting his things away and drying off, and again when he was halfway through redressing. Even rebandaging his hand felt like a chore. And despite reminding himself of his place not five minutes ago, as he pulled Enjolras’s jacket back on, warmth bloomed inside him. It wasn’t quite true that he was Enjolras’s, or that Enjolras valued him enough to want him kept clean, but that’s what it would look like to everyone, so what harm was there in pretending, just to himself? 

It was close to dusk when he stumbled out and let Jehan lead him back to the house. Enjolras was still at the table, eating his own meal now. Grantaire allowed himself to daydream for approximately five seconds about how nice it would be to kneel at Enjolras’s feet and be fed scraps by hand. 

After six seconds, Enjolras was looking directly at him again and it was hard to think about anything. “I assume you would like to rest, R?” Grantaire looked down to the floor and nodded. How pathetic. He had a long way to go before Enjolras would ever be able to see why he could possibly deserve to rest at his feet. “I’m going to come in for just a moment to get my book. I think I left it this morning.”

Enjolras was already kneeling on his bed by the time Grantaire shuffled in. The covers were rumpled underneath him as he looked through a stack of books up on a shelf. All that worry, all that angst, and Enjolras had never even considered Grantaire might’ve slept there. 

Grantaire should’ve been smart, should’ve rejoiced in getting away with something so bad, but how could he face Enjolras again when Enjolras thought he was so good and was so, so wrong?

“I slept in your bed.” Enjolras turned from where he’d been reaching for the door. Grantaire went back to his knees on his assigned bed, knowing it would be unassigned in mere moments. But Enjolras closed the door quietly instead of slamming it and set his book on the floor quietly instead of throwing it at Grantaire’s head and sat on his own bed quietly instead of doing any number of things to Grantaire.

“You took a nap in my bed?” Enjolras frowned and furrowed his brow, but as if he were confused, not as if he were trying to figure out the right punishment to mete out.

“Yes.” Grantaire almost apologized, but he wasn’t sorry. “I knew I shouldn’t have.”

“And why don’t you think should have?”

Grantaire swallowed hard. “I didn’t have permission.”

“So if I had, in fact, given you my explicit permission, you wouldn’t see a problem with it?” 

“It - it depends.” Enjolras kept staring at him, kept frowning. “Sir.”

“What would it depend on?”

“If - if you knew. If I deserved it.”

“Knew what?” Enjolras snapped “In this scenario I’ve already given you permission.” He took a deep breath. “No, you obviously mean something else.”

“That - it felt - it was...good.” Grantaire was already so tired from the shower and his jaw hurt as he clenched it to keep his teeth from chattering. 

“Is your bed not warm enough, R? I can get you more blankets.” Enjolras was already halfway up.

Grantaire had to make him understand. “No, please, it’s not that. It’s - it’s that - it was yours.” That was an even worse explanation than if he had just babbled more incoherent apologies.

“I still don’t understand.”

It seemed he was going to have to spell it out for Enjolras. It also seemed like he might throw up at any moment. “It was good - it was...comforting. I felt - I know you’re in charge but you don’t want to be in charge of me, at least not now when I’m useless, well, extra useless, and extra repulsive, and I can barely manage basic tasks and you keep giving me so much, but it let me pretend you did want me, that I was yours, that I knew what the rules were and I had done my very best and you thought I deserved a reward and-”

“R, food and a bed are not rewards,” Enjolras snapped again.

“I’m sorry.” The only other possible reward he could think of was serving Enjolras, and that was becoming less and less likely.

“No, R - I’m just - never mind. This isn’t about me.” They sat in silence for a few minutes while Enjolras meditated. “But it does involve me. I can’t in good conscience say that you are...my possession, no matter how badly you want that. You’re your own person, and I refuse not to respect that.

“But I also bear a responsibility to you by keeping you in our care. You are communicating that you feel - unhappy. Maybe even unsafe and afraid, if you’ll allow me to extrapolate a bit. And you’re also communicating that I, specifically, can help with that.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure if the philosophy lecture was his punishment. It seemed like a reward for Enjolras, at least. “It smelled like you.”

Enjolras did a double take. “And that was - comforting?” The righteous fury dimmed a tad. “I suppose I never considered that, but it is an intimate thing. Like I was explaining, there’s absolutely no way I can consent to have you join me in bed, not while I have a whisper of a doubt you don’t feel like you can leave of your own accord. But I don’t want to withhold something you’ve asked for. Shall we trade pillows?”

“What?” Grantaire asked stupidly. 

“Would you like my pillow?” Enjolras repeated, and though the room was almost dark, Grantaire had the distinct impression he was blushing. “If it’s the smell that helps, I thought-”

“Oh, yes, please, sir, please. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. I just didn’t understand. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Hush. Then that’s what we’ll do.” And just like that, like this was a completely normal, logical turn of events, Enjolras leaned over and swapped their pillows. A moment later, he pulled out one of his blankets and put on the other bed. “Sleep well.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I should write a chapter with some action, but then...this happened.

Grantaire awoke the next morning in the middle of a thunderstorm. The room was lit only by the candle flickering by Enjolras’s head, as he laid in bed and read. He hadn’t noticed Grantaire. 

Grantaire half-closed his eyes, watching Enjolras’s eyes move quickly across each page before his long fingers turned to the next one. His breathing was as calm and even as if he were asleep. Grantaire silently breathed in the scent of Enjolras’s pillow and blanket, which he had bunched up in his arms overnight to cling to like a toddler. He wondered what it would be like to cling to Enjolras like that, to inhale his scent right from his skin and hair, to feel his actual warmth and muscle. He showed admirable self-restraint and did not graphically imagine a fantasy of giving Enjolras a blowjob. If he lingered for several seconds too long over the thought of crawling up under the covers to warm Enjolras’s cock while Enjolras continued to read and pay him no mind, he was only human. 

He watched for awhile longer, mesmerized by the candle flame and the soft sounds of Enjolras just...existing. He might have dozed back off once or twice. 

When he came back to himself again, Enjolras had a small smile on his face as he read. “Is your book good?” Grantaire asked, stupidly, before he had the wherewithal to stop himself. Enjolras blinked and looked over. 

“Did I wake you?” he asked in reply. Grantaire frowned at the odd question. “With the light?” Enjolras said as Grantaire struggled to process, not that it helped. “It’s not yet dawn.” 

“I don’t-” but that was, yet again, wrong because Enjolras frowned. “No, you didn’t wake me,” Grantaire guessed. “Sir.” He swallowed and then dared to ask, “Could you not sleep, sir?” 

Enjolras shrugged. “It’s nothing to worry about,” which Grantaire noted wasn’t a direct answer. What could he do to help Enjolras sleep? Or relax? But no, he had to stop that train of thought immediately before it derailed into more hard-ons that Enjolras didn’t want to be party to. 

A strong gust of wind blew and the windowpane rattled. “What will-” Grantaire barely stopped himself from covering his mouth. What was wrong with him? To ask a question, and one that wasn’t even about a direct order, and the very first thing in the morning? Or technically before it was even morning? What a stupid way to get banished from Enjolras’s presence, even temporarily. 

“R, what is your question?” Enjolras’s voice was terribly quiet. “It’s alright to ask,” he prompted after Grantaire remained silent too long. 

“What’s going to happen?” Grantaire whispered, kneading Enjolras’s blanket between his fingers instead of looking at him. “With the rain.”

“I don’t understand.” Grantaire clenched his hands and didn’t let go, even when Enjolras added, still terribly quiet, “I can’t answer your question if I don’t understand.” 

“Will I - am I going-” He stumbled, realizing how Enjolras had given him the exact amount of rope needed to hang himself. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do whatever you want,” he finished miserably, even though it was true, because he should shut up and just demonstrate his obedience, instead of continuing to make himself a nuisance along the way. 

Enjolras took a few deep, even breaths, on purpose this time. “Can you tell me what’s different about today that has you so worried, R?” 

This was better, questions broken down so simply even Grantaire couldn’t fail. Probably. “The rain - the storm, sir.”

Enjolras blinked a few times and then turned his head to look at the window, where rivulets of water ran down the pane. Lightning flashed and created a halo around Enjolras’s bed-tousled hair. The thunder came as he turned back to Grantaire. Only Grantaire flinched. “I hadn’t noticed.” He was meditating again, and Grantaire finally managed to keep his mouth shut in the interim. “If you’ll allow me to guess, you thought I - we - someone would send you out in the storm?” 

Then Grantaire did the hundredth stupid thing of the day and opened his mouth back up to start to babble. “Sir, please, I know you’ve been so merciful and kind.” Enjolras made a sound, but Grantaire didn’t, couldn’t, stop. “Even though I’ve been so bad, I know I’ve been behaving awfully. But I know there’s so much work that must happen here, and I know I don’t deserve to have such easy jobs, especially because all I do is fall asleep, and I know there have to be outdoor chores, and...but….” He trailed off for a moment before he started hyperventilating. He would be frozen and soaked through in a minute if he went out, he wouldn’t have the coordination to actually do any tasks, he would fail, only to be dragged back in and stripped naked in front of the fire, in front of everyone, because it was punishment. No, not a punishment, but just what he deserved. 

Enjolras was at his side and making him do the same deep breathing exercises as before. He again wasn’t sure how long it took him to settle down. When he could think again, he noticed Enjolras was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Sorry, sir,” he said, even though he knew that wasn’t right. He made himself let go of Enjolras’s blanket and fished out the piece of yarn Marius had given him from under Enjolras’s pillow. 

“R, we are not going to - to torture you. Ever. Do I make myself clear?” Grantaire fiddled with his string, wrapping and unwrapping it around his index finger instead of saying anything. Enjolras took several more calming breaths. “I know I’m rather ignorant about what you endured, and I’m not trying to pry for details or invade your privacy, but even with my limited knowledge, it’s clear what was done to you was torture. You must see that.” 

Exhaustion hit Grantaire like a tidal wave. He was so tired, tired of nothing making sense, tired of not knowing what was expected of him, tired of being given all this comfort for no reason. He wished Enjolras would just beat him and toss him outside and be done with it. He wished Enjolras would fuck him so he could stop daydreaming about how nice it might be all the damn time. “You were going to kill me.”

It seemed like Enjolras was going to snap at that, but he restrained himself, took more deep breaths. “Yes, if that’s what I needed to do to protect everyone I love. But even then - I wouldn’t have tortured you, not sentenced you to die from exposure or dragged it out some other way. No one deserves that.” 

“No one?” 

“No,” Enjolras said firmly. “Death is only a means to an end. It’s serious enough to take someone’s life, let alone to make them suffer at the last.”

Grantaire began tying little knots along his length of yarn. “I’m glad they suffered. When they died.” 

“That sounds like a very reasonable way to feel, R.” Grantaire looked up at that, still mostly expecting a slap across the face. “I’m not here to judge you. You were strong enough to survive something so horrific, alone. I admire that.” Grantaire instantly flushed, his face almost painful as the blood rushed to it. 

“Well, you’re wrong,” he snapped. “I’m not strong, and I certainly didn’t do anything admirable. You’ve seen enough to know that. You’ve seen well enough how absolutely fucked up I am. Just punish me now.”

“Punish you? For what?” 

“I don’t know - for talking back, for arguing, for disagreeing. For whatever reason you fucking feel like.” 

“R, you are allowed to voice your disagreement with me without consequence,” Enjolras said in an even and practiced tone. “Everyone here is.” 

“I suppose that’s why Combeferre gets to stay then,” Grantaire spat as he nearly tore his yarn in two. 

There was a long moment of silence. And then Enjolras began to laugh. And it wasn’t mean, it wasn’t cruel, it was - genuinely amused. Grantaire’s face flamed even hotter. 

He looked up under his eyelashes. Enjolras was sitting up on his bed, in yesterday’s rumpled clothes and a blanket around his shoulders, and wiping away a stray tear. His hair was even more snarled than before, and there were smudges under both his eyes. He hadn’t raised a hand, hadn’t said one hurtful or humiliating word, hadn’t made a single crude gesture. He easily could have, but he hadn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire whispered, a different kind of shame burning through him. “I’m - this is - confusing. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“It’s quite alright, R. I am not trying to pick a fight, but I’ll say again that I admire your strength.” Grantaire lifted his head all the way and made an attempt to lift one eyebrow. It had been a very long time since he had tried to make any sort of expression on purpose except for a blank mask, and he wasn’t entirely sure what his face actually did. It must have been halfway recognizable because Enjolras laughed again, and Grantaire blushed more. “Fair enough. I am mostly not trying to have an argument.” 

They both laughed this time, and the silence that followed would’ve turned awkward, if not for another flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by rolling thunder. Grantaire’s earlier terror came rushing back, except this time it held equal with Enjolras’s reassurances, instead of overwhelming them. 

“Where - where does Combeferre go when he leaves? At - at night, I mean.” 

Enjolras looked at him. “I’m not sure I follow, R. Are you - does this have something to do with whether people look to me for permission before going somewhere? Because that’s not quite - if there’s somewhere you want to go-”

“No.” Grantaire shook his head. “No, I mean, when I was still - he had his bag and it was the middle of the night and - there aren’t any others like me? That you’ve - sent away?” 

Apparently not, because Enjolras looked extremely perplexed. “Others? I don’t know what you mean. Everyone lives here. Well, except for Eponine, I suppose, but I don’t think Combeferre goes out to see her in the night.” He tilted his head. “Is that part of why you’ve been so frightened? You thought - that we kept human beings in thrall, and kept it secret from you?”

Grantaire shrugged. “It sounds stupid when you say it.” Because it did. Enjolras’s righteousness wouldn’t allow for such a thing. But then Grantaire would have to confront how Enjolras didn’t keep any slaves, including him, which made him feel dizzy and weak, even sitting down. 

“It’s not stupid. Or if it feels that way, it’s because fear can be irrational.” Enjolras straightened his head. “And it’s not stupid if no one has explained. I guess I had assumed someone else had mentioned it, or you had figured it out yourself?” Grantaire shook his head. 

“We keep a flock of sheep. That’s where - no, that’s how Jehan makes all our textiles. For us, and to trade. That’s how we’ve gotten most everything else. Well, and with Feuilly’s help. We liked this house because it’s easy to defend, but we needed more pasture for the sheep, so we keep them about a mile or so away.”

Oh. 

Grantaire almost burst into tears. Marius talking about trying to get Grantaire strong enough to walk for shearing season, Marius suggesting later on that Grantaire could help card the wool, Feuilly and Enjolras coming back from a week away together, the whole house living in relative plenty. Combeferre was a doctor, probably the closest thing to a vet, and must be responsible for taking care of the flock, even if the problems happened in the middle of the night. How could he have misunderstood so thoroughly? 

“R?” Grantaire shook his head. If he opened his mouth, he would cry after all. He was so tired of crying. Thankfully, Enjolras didn’t push and let him sit quietly until he felt a little more under control. “I’ll admit I’m not sure - if it would help, Marius will talk to you about it all for as long as you like. He’s the one that knew all about sheep, and chickens, and horses. And enough about pigs to insist it would be too disgusting to keep any. He deserves the credit for building the foundation of how we can survive.” 

Grantaire swallowed, shuddered. “He grew up on a farm, then?” he asked, because somehow that seemed like a reasonable small talk question, even though this was the furthest thing from small talk. His voice quivered horribly, and there was no way Enjolras couldn’t hear it, but he didn’t comment. 

“No, actually. I think one of his childhood dreams was to go to a petting zoo, but his grandfather would never take him. I think the family owned land somewhere and his grandfather did take him there, but they didn’t keep any animals, just grew a few staples. I think Marius was - to Les to think otherwise the whole trip there. I wouldn’t ask him about any of that, I think it’s still very upsetting for him. But farm animals were still his special interest, even if he could only learn about them in books and online, and all that knowledge turned out to be exactly what we needed. There was a bit of a learning curve with the practical application, but without him it would’ve been a spectacular failure.” 

“He’s very kind,” Grantaire said, and then flinched at the implication. 

“It’s alright,” Enjolras said. “Marius is kind, and I’m often not. It wasn’t always an easy relationship for us. I fear sometimes I still make it hard on my part, but we respect each other. And honestly, we all owe him our lives. I can - I am comfortable making sure no one took any of this away from us, but that’s not the only skill we need.”

Grantaire was tired again, but more wrung out than defeated this time. “Thank you, sir,” he said, when Enjolras seemed to be waiting. 

“Are you tired, R?” He nodded, knowing Enjolras wouldn’t hurt him but still a bit frightened despite that. “I’m sure Combeferre would say you should have breakfast first, and he or Joly should see to your hand again, and then you can rest. It will be a very quiet day for everyone.”

And there was the nagging question again, still not settled. “What’s going to happen?”

“I can’t say for sure. Courf will probably try to get a game of Monopoly going and won’t take no for an answer. Not - not like that, but - he thinks it’s good for morale. He doesn’t actually force anyone, I swear. Feuilly will probably start work on your boots. I imagine Joly will do some light cleaning. Usually we’ll spend most of the day in the kitchen together, but it’s not a rule or a requirement. Courf is right that it’s good to have a day every so often just to spend together without having to work.”

“So - you don’t - no one has to go outside?” 

“I suppose Cosette will step out a few times to see to the animals, and if Jehan can slip out without Joly noticing, they might go...commune.” Grantaire wasn’t sure what that euphemism meant and decided not to ask. “But we certainly aren’t going to force anyone to go. You will stay warm and dry all day.” Some of that righteous fury had crept back into Enjolras’s voice. That made Grantaire feel actually safe - if Enjolras ordered it, then it would be so.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a bit in my summary, but this is certainly a strange fic to be writing in these pandemic times....

Grantaire curled up next to the stove. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of Enjolras’s jacket, which, inexplicably, he’d been allowed to keep. Though inexplicable seemed the new normal, as he’d also been allowed a filling breakfast and had since been left alone. Bossuet had let him clear his own dish and then shooed him off when he made to help at the wash basin. 

His stomach had churned at that - the room was crammed full, full of people watching him be rewarded and not show his gratitude afterwards. But Enjolras had kept saying eating wasn’t a reward, that Grantaire would be fed no matter what. He shook himself. He couldn’t not believe Enjolras. He would do his best to not make an embarrassing scene about it today. 

So he sat curled up, full and warm, and watched. Cosette had told him about everyone, and he had seen most of them at one point or another, but he hadn’t been able to watch all of them together at one time. But he wasn’t very good at that either, because his gaze kept drifting to Enjolras, who was turned in profile and speaking quietly with Feuilly. He was sitting up straight, betraying no sign of his insomnia. He was radiant as ever. Yet no one was looking at him other than Feuilly or Grantaire. 

Was Enjolras also being truthful when he claimed to not really be in charge? Grantaire’s stomach churned again, but he couldn’t look away. 

Bossuet had only taken the last dirty dish when Courfeyrac leapt up on to the bench and clapped his hands. Combeferre had a hand at his back, as if to stop him from jumping on the table. “Since we’re all together on this lovely day, may I suggest a game?” Ice water ran down Grantaire’s spine. He held his breath as he waited for everyone to turn to him, to start making suggestions. But no one did. 

Enjolras was still turned toward Feuilly and said something too quiet for Grantaire to hear, though the word Monopoly was clear on his lips. “And before you complain, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said with a pointed look, “we found something new. Eponine found Risk and brought it back for us.”

Grantaire was pretty sure he did hear Enjolras this time. “Jesus Christ.” He rubbed his face and turned away from Grantaire. “Courf, I think that might be even worse. I’m not sure I want to support-”

“Oh, hush, you. You can present a paper to the class about the evils of colonialism and jingoism after you lose.” There was general laughter as Courfeyrac stepped down with a flourish, and even Feuilly patted Enjolras on the back. Enjolras threw up his hands and shook his head. 

Courfeyrac produced the box and busied himself assigning colors. “Here, as an extra consolation, you and Ferre can be a team,” Courfeyrac said to Enjolras, who stood and went around the table and took only an extra moment before bowing his head over the rule book with Combeferre. 

Grantaire wondered if he should wish for Enjolras to win or to lose. Enjolras had shown no interest in him so far, so he probably wouldn’t want to use Grantaire in celebration. Would he want Grantaire in some way as an outlet for his frustration if he lost? He knew Enjolras would say no, but still, it seemed far better to hope he won. 

He fished his bit of string from Enjolras’s jacket pocket to keep from dwelling on how Risk was a long game, a slow game for this many players, boring for most people most of the time, and there was plenty of room for him underneath the table. He started trying to unpick the knots, with minimal success. He flinched and curled his hand around the yarn as Marius sat down next to him. 

Marius handed him another piece of string without looking at him and opened a book. Grantaire twirled it around and around his finger. He watched from the corner of his eye, and when Marius was on the last page of a chapter, he quietly asked, “Are you not going to play?” 

“I’m on Courf’s team. I’ll go sit with him towards the end.”

“Is that - how do you know he’ll still be in it then?” 

Marius shrugged. “He thinks he’s charming everyone else into allying with him, but really they know that’s the only way they’ll stand a chance against Enjolras and Combeferre combined.”

“Does - Enjolras usually wins, then?” 

“Almost always.”

“And how - what is he like afterwards?”

“It depends. I assume this will be like Monopoly where he’ll want to flagellate himself for winning, but he’ll secretly feel smug for having won, which will only make him want to flagellate himself even more.” Grantaire snorted, and then looked down. 

“How does he like to be comforted?” he asked so softly he doubted Marius had heard. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat it. 

“I don’t know,” Marius eventually said. “If you ask, he’ll deflect.”

Enjolras was going to be upset, and he had no one to take care of him, and no one even knew how to take care of him. Grantaire took a deep breath. He needed to use this time to brainstorm ideas, preferably ones that Enjolras would actually like, which meant not offering his body, because Enjolras didn’t like it. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, partially so he wouldn’t have to see the room but mostly so the room wouldn’t see his tears forming. He should be ecstatic that no one was going to use him. As much as he wanted Enjolras, wouldn’t complain if he were to suddenly storm over, strip him, and fuck him right there in front of everyone, a tiny part of him, buried very deep down, had to admit it wasn’t the carnal act in and of itself that he wanted, as much as he wanted the validation of his worth. 

He was so selfish it was a wonder Enjolras would even look at him, let alone give him space in his room and clothes off his back. It was laughable that he even thought for a second he might be able to comfort Enjolras, when all he really wanted was to comfort himself.

Marius nudged him and Grantaire almost flew up into the ceiling. He followed Marius’s line of sight, and Courfeyrac quickly looked away. “I think we should go look at your hand.” Grantaire flushed and then nodded, not looking up from the floor as Marius led him out.

“That was just a pretext so you could have some space,” Marius said after he shut the door to the front room. Grantaire nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. He curled up under one of the windows and watched Marius build a small fire. He wanted to say no, but Marius had brought his book and appeared to have every intention of staying, and of course he would want to be warm. “I didn’t want you to feel alone,” Marius said, once a few of the sturdier logs had caught, and then settled into a chair and back into his book. 

Grantaire nodded yet again, even though he knew Marius couldn’t see. He was still burning for Enjolras, and twisting at the exact reasons for that burning, but it was better to be away from so many watching eyes. Marius’s presence was a comfort, as was the knowledge he wouldn’t look at Grantaire, even if they were to speak. The fire had not dispersed the chill from the entire room yet, and the floor wasn’t terribly comfortable, but Grantaire was still full and still swaddled in Enjolras’s jacket and rain was still drumming on the windowpanes and he still wasn’t in excruciating pain, and he was still, somehow, utterly exhausted.

He didn’t know how long he had dozed for when he grew aware of the rain tapping louder and more rhythmically at the window above his head. He stayed in the twilight haze between sleep and wakefulness until a particularly loud tap got Marius’s attention, who made a sound and stood up. 

Grantaire turned and almost had a heart attack when he saw a figure at the window. They were obscured under rain gear and looked impossibly tall from Grantaire’s perspective. His movement caught their eye and after a moment, they waved at him.

It couldn’t be - it absolutely couldn’t be - 

He stood up. He wobbled as black spots obscured his vision. He stumbled into the hall. Marius had his hand on the lock. Grantaire looked back. The kitchen was right there. He willed himself to move. He needed to go grovel and beg Enjolras for protection. 

He crawled up the stairs instead. They had said he was too weak. No one would think to look for him there. He pulled himself to his knees at the top. There were so many doors. How could he choose? He picked the left side at random. 

Bedroom. Bedroom. Another staircase - the attic. He was far too weak for two sets of stairs. He crawled in and dragged the door shut. He should’ve shut the other doors he tried. He was so stupid. He shook from more than simple fear. He chose to keep climbing. He stopped four steps from the top. His adrenaline dissipated and his body ached. 

He heard muffled voices. Enjolras’s was a little less muffled. Grantaire lay still and waited. When the door finally opened, he couldn’t make himself look.

“R?” Marius called quietly. 

Grantaire didn’t move.

A step creaked as Marius sat down. “R, I’m sorry you were frightened so badly. That was Eponine. She only meant to get my attention without startling me. She didn’t know you were there, and she certainly didn’t know you had - doubts about her identity. You can meet her, if you’d like, but she thought it would save you some embarrassment to forget this whole thing ever happened, for her part.”

Grantaire forced himself to turn. Marius was ghost white under his freckles. He didn’t care about Eponine. “Enjolras is angry.” He wanted to puke. He wanted to die.

“He’s not angry, he’s scared. It’s not your fault.” Grantaire let the lie go.

“Why?” he asked, almost choking on the word.

“I came to ask if you would rather I explain or hear it from him. I’m sure you want to see him, but Courfeyrac thought you might get the wrong impression.”

Grantaire shivered. Better to know why Enjolras would yell beforehand. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know how much you remember about when I brought you here?”

If only he had died like he planned. “You had a horse.” 

“Yes. And I couldn’t carry you and ride normally. Or at least I didn’t feel safe doing that without Combeferre or Joly to look you over first. I hid the saddle as best I could, given that you needed care immediately. I asked Eponine to go check on it until I had time to ride out and get it back.”

“It was gone.” Grantaire’s voice cracked sharply.

Marius sighed. “Yes, it was gone. And we don’t actually know what the explanation is. Someone could’ve happened across it and taken it to trade. I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility that an animal could’ve made off with it.”

“Enjolras thinks - they found it, and now they’ll know to come here.” 

“That’s what he’s worried about, yes. Combeferre has counseled that even if the - people who had you are the ones who took it, it doesn’t really tell them about where we are. They can only guess that whoever found you has a horse. If there’s very few of them that recovered from being ill, they don’t pose a threat in numbers. You weren’t that far away, practically speaking, so if they haven’t found us by now, it will only happen through random chance.”

Grantaire wanted to slide down the stairs and into oblivion. No wonder Enjolras was angry. “I’ll leave.” And how apt it would be. He would freeze to death in the mud after all. He went to take off Enjolras’s jacket but couldn’t. That would have to be done by force.

Marius stood up. “Enjolras said he wanted to talk to you if you said that.” He turned to go and then stopped. “R, whatever does happen, if anything does happen, I am glad I found you. I don’t regret what happened, and I wouldn’t change it if I could go back and do it again.” He hardly had time to breathe before Enjolras was there.

Where Marius had been pale, he was flushed, and his hair was wild, and his eyes were on fire. Grantaire didn’t know if he wanted to have another try at dragging himself the rest of the way up the stairs or if he wanted to tumble down to land at Enjolras’s feet in a heap. Enjolras storming up to shake him would be a nice compromise, but he stood against the opposite wall and came no further than Marius had. 

“I’m not sending you away. I’ve already told you that. I’ve apologized for threatening to do that before. I do not go back on my word.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Circumstances have changed. I know you’re angry.”

“I’m not-”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable way to feel. Just - let me go now, before the weather changes.” He summoned the courage to glare at Enjolras. “You said you wouldn’t make me suffer. And you just said you don’t break your promises.”

Enjolras stared at him, deadly silent, then stepped back into the hall and shut the door. Grantaire heard him pacing the hallway, then eventually doing what sounded like calming breathing exercises, then pacing some more, before he finally opened the door again. He looked almost as wild as before, except Grantaire could see his fatigue in the smudges under his eyes and the stiff way he carried himself. He suspected it came from more than just one restless night.

“I am keeping my promise of not letting you suffer. You are staying here. Combeferre is right that we just need to be a little extra vigilant and keep in mind someone out there might know you’re still alive. Marius didn’t do what he did because he’s thoughtless or careless - he did it because he is thoughtful and cares very deeply. I know I’m too quick to point out he doesn’t always make the best choices under pressure, but he decided to save your life and he succeeded.”

“How much did Courfeyrac have to pay you to say that last part?”

“What? No, he didn’t-” Enjolras spluttered. “No, that is what I think. Sometimes I just - lose track.”

“When you get angry?” 

“I already said I’m not-” Enjolras gave a rough laugh and shook his head. “I don’t understand. You run up here to hide, then offer to commit suicide, then you seem to have no fear of - of-”

“Pushing your buttons?”

Enjolras made a sound between a sigh and a laugh. “Yes, I suppose so, if that’s what you want to call it.” 

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s your own fault for not beating the shit out of me once in a while. I can’t be trusted to remember my place on my own.” Enjolras stared at him silently for so long, Grantaire almost really wished for a beating instead.

“R, you don’t have to goad me to keep my attention.” Grantaire’s face burned. “Is it alright if I come up?” When Grantaire finally nodded, Enjolras slowly approached and sat a little below him, within arm’s reach. They sat quietly for some time, until Enjolras broke the silence by asking, “Why didn’t you come to me first?” There was something in his tone, but he disguised it too well for Grantaire to identify. 

“I don’t know. Honestly - I don’t.” He thought, because answering a simple question was the least he could for Enjolras. “I guess - I knew I would need to beg for your mercy, but it still seemed better to hide at first. That probably doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.”

Enjolras reached out, excruciatingly slowly, until his fingertips were resting on Grantaire’s arm. It burned, bright and hot and good. “And you wonder why I goad you.” Neither of them moved.

After a few minutes, Enjolras pressed his fingers in gently. “R, I meant what I said about keeping my word. If something were to happen, you can come to me. I will not let anyone do anything to you against your will. I can’t imagine how hard it is to trust, but you can believe me on that.”

“I trust you,” Grantaire said immediately, as he reached out and touched the back of Enjolras’s hand with his own fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the incredibly specific trope of Enjolras being a master at Monopoly and then hating himself for it, so I thought I'd give it the tiniest spin here.


End file.
